Three Scoops of Vanilla
by Demented Amanuensis
Summary: Based on the movie "Philadelphia Story", written for the SSHG fic Exchange 2012. Narcissa Black is about to become Mrs Snape, but Lucius has a Plan. So does Scorpius, not to mention The Manor.
1. Chapter 1

The Manor lies sleeping but conscious, basking in the late morning sunshine.

Humans cannot hear its purr, be they wizards or Muggles. They can feel it, though; their limited senses perceive it as quiet contentment.

The House Elves can hear it as clearly as the voice of their Master commanding them to iron an invisible crease out of his semi-formal morning robes, or the breeze rustling softly in the curtains. The House Elves have the ability – unbeknownst to their Master – to talk to the Manor in a language mysterious to anybody but them.

This is why the Manor knows that, soon, there will be guests.

The highly polished parquet floors creak slightly as the Manor stretches contentedly, like a cat – the House Elves are excited, and they have just brought the latest news: more rooms are to be opened and aired and prepared for unexpected, early guests. Wizards and witches who will be spending days at the Manor, and nights.

The Manor senses the House Elves' eagerness, their anxiety, their loyalty. Then, an unusual note in the buzz of anticipation, a silvery note of... glee?

The Manor thrives on its occupants' emotions. The more sentient beings it holds between its walls, the stronger it grows. An expectant tremor runs through its walls and down to the foundations.

In the breakfast parlour, on a small rosewood table bristling with ornaments, a porcelain figurine of Cupid loses its precarious, tiptoe balance and topples a group of three miniature bronze statuettes – a nymph, a satyr and a stern-looking Charon – before it succumbs to gravity and falls backwards, taking with it a tiny, clay Hathor and a Baby Heracles wrangling a snake.

oooo

In her office overlooking the quiet end of Diagon Alley, Luna Lovegood was sitting at her desk, frowning at a scroll of parchment. She wasn't usually given to frowning or worrying; bad moods, anxiety and a plethora of other, negative emotions were, after all, a result of Nargle infestation and thus easily dealt with.

The figures her accountants had sent her an hour ago, though, were unpleasantly… real. Neatly written in Jasper Swizzle's cramped, pedantic hand, they showed that _The Quibbler_'s popularity was steadily decreasing. It had been the wizarding world's favourite magazine in the years after the war, due to its uncompromising stance even during the darkest times, and because it fearlessly criticized Kingsley Shacklebolt's half-hearted reform efforts in the wake of Voldemort's downfall.

Later on, when Rolf Scamander had joined the staff as chief editor and sometimes-contributor, _The Quibbler_ had begun to focus less on politics and more on the mysteries of magical flora and fauna – Rolf's breath-taking photos had contributed a great deal to the magazine's popularity. Last summer, though, Rolf had decided that spending nine months out of twelve at a desk wasn't his cup of tea at all.

Luna sighed. Maybe she ought to have been a little less understanding of her boyfriend-cum-chief-editor and insisted that he simply invert the outdoors-to-indoors ratio. Instead, she'd instantly agreed to his plans of extensive travelling and taken over most of his editing duties. She'd also hired a few freelance collaborators, among them Neville Longbottom, now a renowned magical botanist and Herbologist. Still, the numbers were steadily declining. Something had to be done. There had to be some unique and fascinating topic that was bound to draw people's attention... Nobody seemed to be interested in politics these days, and the latest sighting of a Chthonic Bludderwantz, vividly described by A Shropshire Lad*, hadn't turned out to be quite the scoop she'd expected. Maybe she ought to have asked the boy's name...

Idly playing with her Butterbeer cork necklace, Luna gazed at the shop front right across the street; while one part of her brain was busy wondering whether the necklace would retain its protective properties if she Transfigured the corks into, say, pearls, another was contemplating the question whether Severus Snape, owner of the shop, would continue working there – he was, after all, probably not going to need the income from _Prince Potioneer_, seeing as he'd become Narcissa Black's husband in a few...

Luna's hand twitched with a powerful spasm of inspiration, and corks went flying in all directions, merrily bouncing off walls and furniture.

oooo

Tongue peeking out of the left corner of his mouth and eyes half-closed in concentration, Neville Longbottom spelled the picture of the Plant of The Month (a Catfish Bruttavista, the apple of his eye and latest addition to his greenhouses – most people thought it was hideous, but Neville was entranced by its bizarre charm) to insert itself right into the centre of the text he'd just written. Another millimetre and maybe one more fraction...

"All right, just a bit more to – bugger! Buggering buggeration and..." He glared at the owl that had swooped in through the window and upset the papers on his desk. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that his carefully researched and lovingly written article on the Bruttavista had floated right into a box of fertilizer he hadn't had the foresight to close, and was now slowly disintegrating, giving off a gentle aroma of rotten eggs.

Shoulders slumping, he loosened his death grip on his wand. "I suppose it's just one of those days," he muttered.

The owl hooted softly.

"And you're one of Luna's," he addressed the bird. "I bet she's reminding me that the article you just destroyed is due tomorrow, and now I've got to rewrite it. Which is all your fault, well mostly, and I really shouldn't be giving you a treat."

The owl clicked its beak and nearly slashed Neville's finger in its eagerness to snatch up the treat. It managed to give him an almost apologetic look as it held out its right foot.

"All right, all right." Neville stroked its back. "I'm not holding it against you."

Thus reassured, the bird took off, while Neville was already busy detangling Luna's quirky Protection Spells. You had to know her well, or dismantling them would take hours. As things were, he was done in a mere five minutes, spared a smile for the envelope Luna had fashioned from an inside-out milk carton (to protect the contents from the prying eyes of Invisible Blinkbusters, a particularly horrid and dangerous magical species engineered by the Unspeakables on Rufus Scrimgeour's behest – Blinkbusters could penetrate almost any substance but would infallibly be repelled by even a microscopic amount of lactose), and pulled out the message.

His eyes grew wider as he read the missive, until they bulged not unlike Luna's.

Still shaking his head, Neville grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from the bowl sitting on the mantelpiece, lit the fire in the grate with a flick of his wand and called, "_The Quibbler_, Luna Lovegood's office!"

The only partly rhetorical inquiry as to whether she'd finally done it and gone completely round the bend died on his lips when he saw her expression of eager happiness. It almost seemed to give a golden tinge to the green flames. Neville sighed to himself. It was, quite obviously, just one of those days.

"It's one of my better ideas, don't you think?" Luna asked by way of greeting.

Neville dropped to his knees, swore silently when his right kneecap encountered the end of the poker, and counted to ten. Then he counted to twenty, took a deep breath and said, "Better isn't exactly the word I had in mind."

oooo

"For someone who's repeatedly been called the brightest witch of her age," Hermione Granger muttered to herself, "I'm acting like a complete and utter idiot."

The cover of last week's issue of _Witch Weekly_ was peeking out from under the slim case file Law Enforcement had sent up an hour ago. "Because," Hermione continued, addressing the potted plant on her desk, "I honestly don't want or need to learn all about the upcoming wedding."

Unsurprisingly the plant, the name of which she kept forgetting even though Neville had told her at least ten times, didn't offer any kind of response, unless you counted another mauve-coloured bloom slowly unfolding. Maybe it did mean to contribute to the conversation. "If," Hermione said, stroking the newly-unfurled petals with her forefinger, "I hadn't kicked him out, there wouldn't be any pictures of him and that stuck-up bitch. So it all seems to be my fault, again. Just as it always is."

She really ought to read through the case file; the first Wizengamot hearing had been scheduled for the early afternoon, and although she was by no means a stranger to cases of domestic violence, it wouldn't do for prosecution to appear in court unprepared. With a sigh, Hermione took a sip of cold coffee, made a face and prepared herself for the feeling of bored disgust that always overcame her when she had to deal with similar cases.

Fifteen minutes later she was still gazing at the smiling face of Narcissa Black, formerly Malfoy, and thinking very uncharitable thoughts indeed, as the blonde turned to gaze up adoringly at her soon-to-be husband's face.

"Because," Hermione told the plant, which luckily didn't remark on the non sequitur, as that would've considerably shortened its life expectation, "I don't think that marriage is going to last much longer than a Fortescue sundae at noon in the Kalahari. Not a bad comparison, actually, because the resulting mess probably won't look much different."

She briefly considered hexing the picture but decided against it – pissed-off though she was at the tangible proof that Severus Snape was actually able and, worse, willing to settle down with a woman provided she wasn't Hermione Granger, she felt that firing a Bat-Bogey Hex at a two-dimensional image might be incompatible with the level of maturity she flattered herself to have achieved, even though there was no other witness than the plant.

She got up and poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. Back at her desk, she resolutely shoved the magazine under a stack of papers. "And anyway, if hexing were to actually happen, it would be directed at Severus and his snobbish fiancée. Not that I'm going to do anything of the kind," she added virtuously, giving the plant a sideways glance, "but I feel bloody well entitled to imagine it. It's called mental hygiene and supposed to be very healthy, you know? Come in," she called, when a knock on her office door interrupted the somewhat one-sided conversation. "Oh, hullo Neville! What brings you here?"

Why, she mused ruefully while Neville enclosed her in one of his best-friend bear hugs, couldn't she fall for this lovely guy? He was straight, he was good-looking in a reassuring kind of way, he was kind and clever, and funny to boot, and he… Well yes, there was that. He wasn't her type in the least, nor was she his – they'd actually discussed the topic at length after a drunken one-night stand following her break-up with Ron.

"I've got a favour to ask," Neville said after accepting a cup of coffee and settling himself in the chair facing hers. "And I want you to promise, or make that solemnly swear, that you'll hear me out and, more importantly, that you're not going to hex me."

Hermione took a sip of coffee and grimaced – it had gone cold again. It always did. "You know I wouldn't hex you."

"Not under normal circumstances, no. But considering what I'm going to tell you, I wouldn't be so sure."

"You do seem rather worried." Hermione leaned forward, the better to scrutinize her friend's face. "You haven't done anything illegal, have you? Not that I wouldn't try to help you, but favours…" She shrugged. "Professional ethics and all that, you know."

"I haven't done anything yet," Neville replied ominously. "But… I just talked to Luna. She's quite worried, you see – sales have been dropping rather dramatically."

"And you mean to cast the Imperius Curse on people so they'll buy her rag – oh, sorry!" Hermione gave his forearm a mortified pat. "Always putting my foot in it, aren't I? I completely forgot that you're working for her now, and-"

"Not working for her, strictly speaking," Neville interrupted her. "It's just freelance, and I'm not contributing any, let's say, esoteric stuff. But you're right about more people needing to buy _The Quibbler_, and me playing a part."

"Come again?"

"You were insinuating that I was going to get people to buy that, erm, rag, by casting an Unforgiveable."

"I was joking, Neville. Usually you're able to appreciate… Wait a minute. Don't tell me you're actually going to-"

"Now don't be silly. I promised to help, but I'm absolutely sure it's not illegal as such, no."

"Well that's a relief. Still, you seem to think I'm not going to like it."

Carefully putting down his cup, Neville shook his head. "Wrong. I'm sure you're going to hate it. So, do you promise you won't hex me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but held out her hand nevertheless. "I promise." Neville's calloused, firm grip briefly enveloped her fingers. "I hope you're sufficiently reassured. Now shoot."

oooo

"You promised!" Neville said.

Eerily reminded of the eleven-year-old whom she'd Petrified, Hermione wasn't quite sure whether to laugh or cry. "I'm sorry, Neville. Really, really mortified, not to mention terminally embarrassed. But" – she winked at him briefly before looking back at the menu – "look at the bright side. You were a frog for, what, two minutes tops, and now I'm buying you lunch at the Crooked Wand. If you look at it this way, you can't say fairer than that, can you?"

"Considering that I'm going to have some of that 1994 Brunello, probably not. Look," he said, nodding his thanks to the waiter who handed them their aperitifs, "I know that Snape is a touchy subject."

She snorted. "Understatement of the century. Like saying that Voldemort had a bit of an attitude problem."

"Okay. Okay, so it's an extremely touchy and dangerous subject. But please try to see it from my point of view – you being so secretive about it doesn't exactly make it easy to understand what makes it so dangerous. Besides, I was in Guatemala at the time you broke up, and all I know is hearsay. You clamp shut like an oyster every time the topic comes up, and it's not as if I could ask _him_. Or would want to," he added, cringing slightly at the mere thought.

"It's not rocket science, Neville," Hermione snapped. "We had an affair, I got too close, he ran for the hills. End of story."

"Uh-huh. So what you're really saying is, you loved him, and you think he loved you back, but not enough to make it permanent. And now he's getting married to Narcissa Malfoy."

"Something like that, yes," she said wryly. "To tell you the truth, I don't think I'm over him. Not that I tried very hard, mind you, because I thought…" She downed her Campari Soda in one go and glared at Neville.

"That he'd see the error of his ways, eventually, and come back to you," Neville finished quietly. "Darling, I'm sorry, I honestly had no idea-"

"It's not the end of the world." It was a lie, of course, and Neville didn't look as if he believed it. "Anyway, let's abandon the topic of my abysmal relationship skills – I don't quite understand how Luna got it into her head that I could help you with this. Nobody even knows where the event – oh shit, I can say it, I know I can." She gestured to the waiter for another drink. "As I was saying, nobody knows where Severus' wedding is going to take place."

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Oh." It was hard to feign indifference, but she was doing her level best.

"It's at Malfoy Manor."

God alone knew – and was probably shaking his head in disapproval – what she would have turned Neville into this time, had not the waiter shown up with their starters. His slightly ironic "If I may, Madam?" as he cautiously manoeuvred the plate past her trembling wand hand was enough to prevent her committing the atrocious gaffe of hexing her guest in a public place.

It was certainly not enough, though, to calm her down. "Impossible!" she hissed at Neville, who was looking more than a little clueless. "There's no way Luna knows…" She fell silent abruptly and bit her lip.

"Well she does, although I have no idea whom she had to bribe in order to find out…" Neville cocked his head, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "I don't think we're talking about the same thing here, darling. What is it Luna can't possibly know?"

Congratulations, Granger, she thought. Subtle as always, Granger. And now you're also blushing – great job. Now he knows there's something else, and he won't rest…

"Actually," Neville said slowly, "I've been wondering why Luna told me to enlist _your_ help – as far as I'm aware, you'd rather eat slugs than ask Snape for an invitation, let alone two, and the same probably goes for Narcissa. I could've asked Draco, of course, but he still starts swearing if one as much as mentions your name in his presence – that fine he had to pay for the flying Ferrari isn't forgotten, obviously. So that leaves-"

"All right," Hermione said. "I'm going to say this just once, and I don't want to discuss it. Lucius and I had a… a thing. I don't know how Luna got wind of it, but that's obviously the reason why she thinks I might get him to sneak me into the event. Us, I mean."

"A… thing?" Neville said after he'd finished coughing up the wine he'd inhaled. "A thing? You and Lucius Malfoy had a thing? When?"

"About a year ago," Hermione said reluctantly.

"A year – Merlin on a broomstick, darling, you really do like your rebound sex, don't you? That was just after you and Snape broke up, right?"

She nodded, a little stiffly. "It may have been, yes."

"So?"

"So what? Look, Neville, it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I said I don't want to discuss it, remember?"

"There's no way we're not going to discuss it, darling. Were you drunk?"

"Of course I was drunk. Drunk, unhappy, miserable, and bloody well humiliated, if you must know. The breakup had been so bad, and I felt… I just needed to reassure myself that somebody, anybody really, still thought I was desirable."

"As far as I know," Neville ventured cautiously, once she had calmed down a bit, "Lucius Malfoy doesn't exactly sleep around, contrary to popular opinion. So you used him and dumped him? Now that must've gone down extremely well."

"Believe it or not, I didn't care much about Lucius' feelings. I wanted a really good fuck, I got a phenomenal fuck, and that's it. Flowers and jewels didn't change that, either."

"He sent you flowers?"

"God, Neville, you're such a bleeding heart!"

"And jewels?"

"Yes, he fucking sent me jewels, and flowers, and I sent them back. I told you, it was a one-off."

"But phenomenal."

She felt her lips curl in spite of her. "Yes, well, it sort of was."

"Was it as good for him as it was for you?"

"Neville, I warn you…"

"Well that's extremely reassuring. So he'll probably be eager to give you that invitation, won't he?"

She left the tiny green frog in his glass of 1994 Brunello for a full fifteen minutes before she finally took pity on the intoxicated amphibian.

oooo

*_**A Shropshire Lad**_ is a cycle of sixty-three poems by the English poet Alfred Edward Housman (26 March 1859 – 30 April 1936). Some of the better-known poems in the book are "To an Athlete Dying Young", "Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry Now" and "When I Was One-and-Twenty". The collection was published in 1896. The Chthonic Bludderwantz has absolutely nothing to do with Housman's poetry; mention of A Shropshire Lad as Luna's source is due only to Major Writer's Silliness (the silliness is major, not the writer)


	2. Chapter 2

Ten generations of Malfoys were looking down at the family's scion with varying degrees of pride. The child was precocious, clever and sneaky, no doubt, but he still had a lot to learn about comportment. Being eight years old was, at least in the opinion of the more traditionally-minded ancestors, no excuse for sitting on the floor barefooted, in short trousers and something the boy insisted on calling a "tea shirt", when it was painfully obvious that he was wearing a highly informal, not to mention formless, garment that certainly wasn't a shirt and most emphatically was not acceptable apparel for the partaking of afternoon tea.

First, such was the general consensus, you had to learn manners. Only once you had mastered them were you free to, well, transcend them. Young Scorpius was quite obviously more interested in his budding career as an eavesdropper, and keen to share his secrets with his noble forebears, than in learning to decode the subtle messages sent by different kinds of cufflinks worn in several dozen different ways. They may be burning with curiosity, but they certainly were not going to encourage the child to continue on the path towards dissolute uncouthness. In unspoken understanding they kept their silence.

As a matter of fact, Scorpius was worried.

He needed to talk to grown-ups, but it had to be the right kind. Not the kind of _right kind _his mother had in mind when she scolded him about being best friends with Hugo Weasley – Scorpius could never quite understand why his mother didn't like Hugo. He played a mean game of Quidditch, could throw garden gnomes further than anybody Scorpius had ever met, and his repertoire of swearwords surpassed even Granddad's. Well, maybe not as far as the number was concerned, but they were certainly more colourful. What was more, Hugo had achieved all these skills by the age of seven, and Scorpius, who was one year his senior, admired him all the more for it.

Scorpius missed his friend and wished that the teachers at the Salisbury Elementary School for Magical Children didn't need two long months of holidays every year. When he'd thrown a serious tantrum, though, because his father had refused to persuade them to come back to school two weeks early, Dad had made him sit down at the table and draw up a list of the various misdeeds he and Hugo had been committing throughout the school year. It had been a long list, and once Scorpius had finished it, Dad had sat down with him and proceeded to explain that, even though not all the pupils were such distinguished hellions as he and Hugo, he would understand why the teachers needed two full months of peace if he divided his list by five (because most of their peers were less accomplished troublemakers) and multiplied it by 263, which was how many wizards between the ages of six and eleven were attending the school.

When Scorpius hadn't shown any more understanding for his beleaguered instructors, Dad had told him to divide the sum of their collective misdeeds by 175, which was the approximate number of school days. When he saw, in black and white, that the teaching staff had to deal with an average of fifty infractions per day, he'd understood. Sort of.

The episode had also confirmed Scorpius' conviction that, while Dad had effortlessly diddled him into solving a difficult maths problem, he was not the kind of person you could share certain worries with. Granddad, on the other hand, while being exactly the right kind of person for this kind of situation, was too closely related to Scorpius' worries and thus not on the list of People to Talk To.

Which pretty much left Scorpius in the lurch, seeing as they were spending the summer at the Manor, as they always did; he liked House Elves and wouldn't have hesitated to unburden himself to one of them, but his own elf Whippy was a bit on the dumb side, and the Manor Elves were as loyal to Granddad as dirt was to the supposed-to-be-white bit of Scorpius' fingernails, and would surely tattle.

So he had wandered up to the first floor and into the portrait gallery, where he sat down on the floor and waited for somebody to ask him what was bothering him, while absentmindedly Transfiguring Granddad's favourite letter opener into a button and back again with his father's spare wand.

There was a story about that letter opener, which Granddad had told him one night after dinner, with Scorpius sitting on his knees and plaiting his hair. Or rather, started to tell him – Mum really was strange at times, and where were her manners, honestly, because she always admonished Scorpius not to interrupt people when they were speaking. She had interrupted his grandfather, though, and pretty rudely too, when he'd come to the interesting bit about his mother-in-law and the tightly-laced corset.

Granddad's mother-in-law was Scorpius' great-grandmother, and she was long dead. He had a grandmother, too, only she apparently wasn't his grandmother anymore, because she'd divorced Granddad. "Divorced" had sounded a bit strange at the time – he'd only been six back then – and Scorpius had asked Granddad whether it hurt a lot to be divorced, in which case he'd go and divorce Stanley Goyle something wicked if he dared call Hugo's mum a blood traitor ever again. Pansy Weasley baked superb cakes – she always packed Hugo a big slice for Scorpius – and certainly wasn't any kind of traitor, even though Mum always got this pinched look when the two women met. Granddad said they had a History, whatever that was supposed to mean.

He'd known it was the wrong thing to ask when he saw Granddad's expression. He hadn't been angry – Granddad never was – but his face had gone all… It was like when Mum told him he had to go to bed, while it was still light outside, and when he complained he couldn't sleep she threw the curtains shut with an impatient flick of her wand. His bedroom became instantly dark and slightly creepy. That was what had happened to Granddad's face.

And now his grandmother, whom he had met maybe twice in his life and couldn't remember clearly, was going to marry another man. Here at the Manor.

The Other Man was Uncle Severus, who was Scorpius' godfather and his granddad's best friend, although Scorpius had a hard time imagining him throwing garden gnomes. Or playing Quidditch, for that matter. He had to admit, though, that Uncle Severus could swear with the best of them, and he knew a lot about potions and hexes. That, however, was of little use to Scorpius, because Uncle Severus refused to teach him either. Obviously Narcissa – under no circumstances was he to call her Grandma – liked Uncle Severus better than Granddad, but that was girls for you. As to Uncle Severus… well, that was why he was sitting here in the portrait gallery, waiting for somebody to come to his aid.

Last night, when he was supposed to be in bed, he'd sneaked back downstairs and listened at the library door, knowing from experience that the grown-ups always saved the most interesting topics of discussion for well after Scorpius' bedtime. Not that he begrudged them their secrecy; he and Hugo wouldn't have wanted to share their secrets with the adults, either. If they were even half as naïve as adults, however, they'd have a hard time keeping things from them. People, especially teachers and parents, never were where they were supposed to be, and therefore you better made sure where they were before you started talking about things you didn't want them to know.

His parents and Granddad had seemingly never come to that conclusion, and Scorpius knew better than to impart this important bit of wisdom to them.

Anyway, Mum and Dad didn't think that Narcissa and Uncle Severus were a good match, and they tried to persuade Granddad to do something about it. Scorpius hadn't understood everything, but he was well aware that Granddad had assumed what Mum called an "infuriatingly calm demeanour", which never failed to outrage her. Fortunately Whippy, the House Elf assigned to Scorpius, had been eavesdropping together with him, and had Apparated him to the nursery just in time, as Mum stormed out of the library in an almighty strop.

Although Scorpius was far from assuming that his parents were always right, he rather tended to agree with them as far as Uncle Severus was concerned.

Uncle Severus had been severely depressed – that was Mum-speak for "pissed-off as hell and trying to flush it out of his system with Firewhisky" – after a witch named Hermione had broken up with him. Granddad had told Scorpius that Uncle Severus was still in love with this Hermione, but too bloody stubborn to swallow his pride and go to grovel on her doorstep until she took him back. If he still loved Hermione, marrying Narcissa was a mistake, right? Like when Mum's pet Crup had died and Dad had got her a Kneazle kitten the next day – she'd actually screamed at Dad that someone you loved couldn't be replaced as easily as that, and called him an unfeeling brute. Now the Kneazle belonged to Scorpius and that was a good thing, mind you, but even though he loved Bella (that was the name Mum had given her, short for Bellatrix, and Dad had looked as if he'd been fed Flobberworms), he understood why his mum couldn't.

So, if Uncle Severus was his mum, and Hermione was Pipsy the Crup, Narcissa was the Bella of this particular tale, and Scorpius would need to find a Scorpius for her. He didn't have more than three days, so he would have to act fast.

Since none of the ancestors seemed inclined to ask pertinent questions, he could just as well get started on his own. Mum had told him, though with a rather peculiar expression on her face, that two unexpected, special guests were going to arrive later in the afternoon, after Uncle Severus and Narcissa – maybe one of them would be a suitable candidate for Narcissa.

In the meantime he'd be busy enough, trying to think of a credible explanation for Granddad, who was probably going to ask him why his letter opener had been replaced by a vaguely wedge-shaped button with a very sharp edge.

oooo

Entirely unaware of his grandson's first steps on the steep but ultimately satisfactory path of successful plotting, Lucius Malfoy was elegantly lounging in an armchair in his study, nursing a glass of excellent brandy and contemplating the day's results so far. He was only wearing trousers and a light shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; he actually preferred this state of dishabille to the formal robes he customarily wore in public, but was well aware that a wizard, poised and aloof though he may be, would never impress the hell out of his peers unless in full wizarding regalia.

This was his home, though, and he was surrounded by family and thus free to indulge.

Family. That's what it all came down to, wasn't it?

He took a sip of brandy, smiled fondly at the signet ring on his right hand, and directed his thoughts back at what had been a rather successful day, if he said so himself. One stone and… how many birds exactly?

Firstly, Rita Skeeter.

Circe and all her swine, how he detested the woman.

There was no denying that she'd been useful, spreading carefully measured-out doses of information after Voldemort's demise; he was the one, though, who had fed her selected bits, and he'd done extremely well. Narcissa had helped him, too, if unwittingly, by succumbing to the doubtful charms of that hairy, Italian millionaire. By overstepping the – admittedly narrow – boundaries of the unwritten but almighty pureblood code of conduct, she had made it almost too easy for him and Skeeter to direct the populace's indignation towards her. Anyway, Skeeter, whose greed and pettiness routinely got the better of the small amount of brainpower allotted to her, had been as predictable as he'd expected and done exactly as he wished. Made a pretty Knut of it, too, what with all the interviews and exclusives. All the same, she seemed to think that he owed her some kind of debt, which she apparently meant to collect by nagging him ceaselessly about an exclusive on the wedding.

Now_ if_ the wedding actually took place – and he'd do his level best to prevent that – of course he meant for it to make the papers, mind you, just not filtered through the beady eyes of one Rita Skeeter. He'd had his eyes on Loony Lovegood right from the beginning and intended to offer her the scoop at the last minute; when she'd Flooed him this morning, all flustered and eager to find out where the event was going to take place, he'd merely had to hold out his hand to catch the fruit falling off the tree.

Rita was going to be livid, and if in the old times he would've aimed for something more along the lines of permanently disfiguring and painful, there was something to be said in favour of a comfortable life at home instead of a cell in Azkaban, and gloating while sipping some fine cognac.

Secondly – and he was honest enough, at least in the privacy of his study, to admit to himself that it wasn't entirely his own doing – there was Hermione Granger.

Hermione, sent by Luna Lovegood to stay under his roof for a full three days – that she and Longbottom should also join them today had been his idea, though, and Lovegood had enthusiastically agreed to the offer of including a few pictures of the Manor and family.

Hermione, who had Flooed him a couple of hours ago, visibly against her will but notoriously unable to refuse helping a friend in need. As always when she tried to keep strong emotions from showing on her face (and failed miserably), her lower lip had been sticking out just so, while she was waiting for his answer. He'd taken his time, kept her on tenterhooks for a while before he pretended finally to agree to her request after careful deliberation. Considering how many months had gone by since, well, _that_ night, he deserved a bit of petty satisfaction, considering that she'd been denying him any other kind.

He sighed. He hadn't been smitten since he'd first encountered young Narcissa Black, beautiful like snow glittering in the winter sunlight, fresh out of Beauxbatons and radiating an intriguing mix of arrogance and fierce passion. Hermione, though, had caught his heart by entirely different means – not that she wasn't pretty in her own way, but she wasn't a patch on Narcissa. Didn't need to be, what with her razor-sharp intelligence, a sense of right and wrong that would be deadly, hadn't it been tempered by a generous and loving heart, and enough courage to make Godric Gryffindor go green with envy.

He wouldn't have dreamed of making a move while she and Severus were together, especially since they'd become better acquainted _because_ of Severus; probably he'd been the worst of fools taking her to bed right after the break-up. He ought to have waited, and instead he'd rushed in like a seventeen-year-old. The sex had been mind-blowing, but she'd only granted him the one night. Sent back flowers, jewels, his letters – unopened. That had made him really angry. He recognized independence and principles when he saw them, though, and in the end couldn't but admire her for them.

Lovegood had told him – unasked, and that was what made him suspect she, too, may well have ulterior motives she preferred not to disclose – that there was nothing between Hermione and Longbottom. Just old friends, she'd said. Or did she maybe remember those Floo calls – he'd been quite worried at the time about Hermione and had maybe sounded a tad too… interested – and somehow drawn her own conclusions? Better let that thought rest for the moment. Hermione would arrive in a few hours' time, and he'd do his damnedest to… Unless…

There was, unfortunately, a capital X in the equation. Any feelings Severus and Hermione might still be harbouring for each other could not be simply discarded.

Lucius did, of course, intend to sabotage the wedding – which was why he'd suggested that the Manor would be the ideal premise in the first place – both to get back at Narcissa (bird no. three) and save Severus from making a spectacularly stupid mistake (bird no. four), but was well aware of the possibility of Severus and Hermione falling back in love. And where would that leave him?

Narcissa could go hang herself or take up with the Longbottom boy, for all he cared. She'd betrayed him – not by swanning off with that Flavio Whatshisname*, no; she'd betrayed the loyalty she owed him and their son by taking Bella's, and by extension Voldemort's, side during that horrifying year…

He emptied his glass and stood.

No more maudlin thoughts. He had guests to greet and an intrigue to oversee.

oooo

*The author was thinking of Flavio Briatore ( wiki/Flavio_Briatore) , a man as remarkable for his ugliness as for his – unexplainable, in the author's opinion – powers of seduction. Naomi Campbell used to be one of his more famous girlfriends; the author is convinced that Narcissa is exactly the kind of woman he would've set his eyes on. And succeeded, unfathomable though it seems.


	3. Chapter 3

The huge, cast-iron gates swung open the moment Hermione and Neville materialized on the Apparition point hidden behind a cluster of oleander bushes.

"The wards are still set to recognize you," Neville observed. His sly grin was quickly burned off his face by Hermione's glare, and he cleared his throat. "Don't you think," he began cautiously, when they'd walked a few yards along the gravel path without Hermione turning him into a frog, "that it would be a good idea to be, well, honest about your feelings? Not" – he raised his hand when she tried to interrupt him – "not that I mean for you to open your heart to all and sundry, but maybe you could give it a try, just between you and me? Because-"

Hermione stopped in her tracks. "What makes you think I'm not being honest?"

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, I wasn't born yesterday! I can read the signs, you know."

"You're a guy, you're not supposed to be able to," she muttered crossly. She did take his arm, though, when he held it out for her, and so he supposed it was safe for him to continue.

"Darling, I've spent my whole life surrounded by women. Not just Gran, but all those aunts and cousins. And since all the girls in Gryffindor, and not only there I'm afraid, seemed to think I was one of them, well… Rest assured that I speak Woman."

"You make it sound like we're some kind of alien species."

"You are, in a way. Don't tell me you girls don't think the same way about us blokes, because I know you do." He bent over to kiss the top of her head. "So, yes, I do see the signs, and I'm able to make sense of most of them. Besides you've already told me that you're not over Snape. But I think that the Lucius-chapter is far from closed, too."

Hermione sighed. "It's difficult."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Point taken. In a way, the whole Lucius thing is, I mean was, even more complicated than what I had with Severus." She pointed to a stone bench surrounded by rose bushes. "Let's sit down for a moment, and I'll try to explain."

"Won't they be expecting us at the house?"

"Probably, yes. But if they're so keen on seeing us as soon as possible, which I assure you they aren't, they can bloody well come and meet us here. Do you want me to tell you more or don't you?"

"Of course!" Neville sat down hastily and moved to make room for Hermione. "I wouldn't miss that for the world."

"Oh, ha-ha. Very funny. Yes, I know you mean it," she said, patting her friend's arm. "So, where was I?"

"You were saying that things with Lucius were more complicated-"

"Indeed. You see, the breakup with Severus-"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I need to understand this. Who left whom?"

"I… threw him out. We'd had this big row, because I'd had the audacity to hint that I wanted something permanent, not necessarily marriage but at least moving in together, and he… I'd rather not go into the sordid details, but I was hurt. Badly, deeply hurt. I bodily shoved him out the door and Banished the few things he kept at my place – even managed to hit him in the head with a number four pewter cauldron."

"A break-up complete with sound effects," Neville said. "You ought to have sold tickets."

"As. I. Was. Saying." Hermione gave him a hard stare. "I was hurt and humiliated, feeling rejected. Maybe I also ought to mention that Severus and I used to hang out quite often with Lucius."

"I know they're fast friends but…" Neville shook his head. "This is a bit hard to imagine. I mean… you don't 'hang out' with Lucius Malfoy. You do something dignified and terribly expensive, while sneering at lesser mortals. Like playing Hippogriff Polo."

Hermione chuckled. "You'd be surprised. When in the company of people he likes and trusts, Lucius can be extremely laid-back. Not to mention fun. And when he's drunk he even forgets to sneer. I couldn't quite believe it either, but there you are. Once I'd overcome my reservations – that took quite some time… Anyway, I came to genuinely like him."

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely. So as I was saying, we spent a great deal of time together, the three of us, and I was aware that… I know it sounds a bit conceited, but I was aware that Lucius wasn't, well, wholly indifferent."

"You mean he had the hots for you but refrained from making a move because you were his best friend's girlfriend."

"In a nutshell, yes."

"So you're basically saying that he'd been gagging for it for months, and when he finally got it, you kicked him out after only one night? Good job, darling."

"I didn't exactly kick him out. We'd spent the night here, at the Manor-"

"Let me guess – champagne, kisses in the rose garden, things getting hotter and hotter until he slung you over his shoulder and Apparated the two of you right into his bedroom?" Neville waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Your imagination is entirely too lurid for a young man your age," Hermione said repressively. "Never mind the details; when I woke up the next morning, I just grabbed my clothes and ran for it."

"That," Neville said slowly, "sounds simple. Except it obviously wasn't."

"No, not really. I'd come to be really fond of Lucius, but destroyed the friendship, or whatever it was, by sleeping with him."

"Says who?"

"It's bloody obvious, isn't it?"

"You'll probably hex me again, darling, but I have to say it: what destroyed, or damaged, whatever was between you wasn't the sex, or maybe not only the sex. Mainly it was you, acting like a bitch."

"I didn't-"

"Yes, you did. I love you, but you did. Imagine the roles reversed – how would you have reacted if he'd fucked you, done a bunk and rejected each and every attempt at communication?"

Stamping her foot was difficult from a sitting position, and not quite as satisfactory as Hermione would've wanted. "Shit, Neville, why do you have to be…" She sniffled.

"Your friend? Is that what you mean?" He put his arm around her shoulders. "I wouldn't be much of a friend if I praised you for behaving like an idiot, would I?"

"No but… Okay, you're right. But try to understand – I told you how I was feeling at the time, and I just couldn't…" She searched her handbag for a hanky and gratefully took the one Neville dangled in front of her nose. "I knew it was a mistake, honestly I did, but I needed the… the closeness and the intimacy, because I thought I'd lost that forever. But once I'd got it, I was so afraid of being hurt again that the only thing I thought I could do was run."

"So you basically did the same thing Snape did."

"I… Are you sure you aren't gay? Or a counsellor? A gay counsellor maybe? All this understanding is beginning to creep me out!"

"Just your average, perspicacious and uninvolved bystander." Her shoulders were beginning to shake, and Neville pulled her closer. "You fucked up big time, darling."

"I al-always do," Hermione said in between sobs. "And I'll end up like Arabella Figg, smelling of cabbage and cats, and they'll have eaten my dead body before anybody finds it."

"Now you're being silly," Neville admonished her. "We all make mistakes, but now you're here, and it might be your chance to set it all to rights."

"Fat chance."

"We'll see." He stood up and patted dust off his trousers. "Come on, we're late already. They probably think we're committing unspeakable acts in the maze."

Trumpeting into the hanky, Hermione gave him a watery smile. "The Unspeakables don't have a maze."

"Obviously it isn't hope that dies last, but bad puns," Neville said, snickering. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Will you promise me that you'll talk to me before you commit another act of unheard-of idiocy? Deal?"

"Deal." She gave him a spontaneous hug. "You're wonderful, Neville. I just… I mean you ought to know. That you're wonderful. And an all-around great guy."

Arm in arm they continued their walk towards the Manor.

Neither of them noticed the flesh-coloured string that was being carefully hauled in towards the trunk of an ancient oak tree close to the bench they'd been occupying. A ray of evening sunlight reflected by a signet ring danced across the gravel path; they'd turned their heads to look at a white peacock fanning out its tail, though.

oooo

"Adjacent rooms, but not connected," Neville observed as he strolled into the guest chamber Hermione had been assigned by the House Elf that had also greeted them at the entrance door. The Lord and Master had yet to make an appearance. "How thoughtful. Hermione? Are you there?"

A squeal from the bathroom and the sound of breaking glass told him unmistakeably that Hermione was, indeed, there. "Jesus, Neville, can't you knock?" A mass of frizz appeared in the doorframe, followed by a pair of brown eyes glaring at him. "Now I've broken this glass, or probably it's some sort of family heirloom and worth a fortune."

Neville Levitated her wand from the nightstand and carefully floated it towards his friend. "Sorry, darling. Nothing there that I haven't seen already, though. Remember?"

The head reappeared. "I thought you were a gentleman, Neville."

"Did you indeed?" He let himself fall on one of the armchairs upholstered in pale primrose silk. "That'll teach you, then."

Wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe, Hermione came out of the bathroom. "What are you doing here, anyway? We're supposed to get ready for dinner, which is in fifteen minutes – you haven't forgotten, have you? Or worse, decided to stay in your room and throw me to the wolves?"

"As if I would ever do such a thing." He crossed his legs, apparently not intending to leave the room any time soon. "No, I came over to see how you are, maybe soothe your nerves, and generally behave like a knight in shining armour."

"Why would you think that my nerves are in need of soothing?" Hermione asked. She opened the doors of a large wardrobe cleverly hidden in the wall and cocked her head. "I think I'm going to wear a Muggle dress, just to get up their noses a bit."

"Would that be Lucius', Draco's or Astoria's nose? Or Narcissa's?"

Hermione whirled round. "Nar- But she's not supposed to be here! Not yet, at least – Lucius said they were going to arrive the day after tomorrow, or that's what I thought he was… " She raked a hand through her hair, looking more than a little upset.

"Well so they've probably changed their minds. Mind, rather – now they're going to get married they're supposed to have only one, aren't they? Not to mention one flesh. No, don't!" he exclaimed – Hermione had crossed the room rather faster than he'd thought possible and was now standing in front of him, fists planted on her hips, radiating indignation.

"Neville Longbottom! This is no laughing matter."

"Maybe not, but darling" – he got up and put a hand to her cheek, surprised that she leaned into it immediately – "you're so tense, you need to loosen up a bit. You don't want them all to see how this is affecting you, right?"

Snorting, Hermione briefly caressed his fingers before returning to the wardrobe. "We'll be sharing a table with – correct any omissions – three ex-Death Eaters, to wit Narcissa, Lucius and Severus, two of whom are more accomplished at Legilimency than I'm comfortable with. Besides, there'll be Draco, who still bears me a grudge over the Ferrari affair, and Astoria, who is every bit as stuck-up as Narcissa. Just between the two of us" – she lifted a hanger from the wardrobe – "I'll confess that I'm even more worried about Scorpius who, at least according to Ron, is one of the slyest, most precocious little Slytherins-to-be he's ever had the misfortune to meet."

"Precisely my point. Do me a favour and try at least to project an aura of calm aloofness. But if that's what you want to do," he said, joining her in front of the wardrobe, "this is definitely not the right kind of dress for this kind of thing – you don't want to look demure. You want to look intriguing, and more than a little sexy and, most importantly, utterly desirable."

"What about this one, then?" Hermione put the black dress back into the wardrobe and fished another hanger off the rod.

"Hmm..." Neville let his hands glide over the gauzy fabric.

"Neville, dinner is starting in ten minutes, and I still have to do my hair!"

"_Cocktails_ are being served in ten minutes, and you of all people should know that showing up a few minutes late intensifies the aura of mystery and femme-fatale-ness."

"I hate being late!"

"So did Snape, I guess, but remember that he was always late for the first class of the school year. Do you think that was because he was unable to read the clock?"

"N-no. But... Look, why don't you choose a gown while I deal with my hair and make-up?"

"Do I have your permission for small alterations?"

Hermione threw up her hands in defeat. "Okay. Fine, do whatever you want. Just don't exaggerate."

oooo

Narcissa's room was empty; hearing the noise of running water from her bathroom, Severus muttered an unflattering comment on women, vanity and punctuality and went to knock on the door. "Narcissa, dear? Can you hear me?"

The sound became fainter and finally petered out. "Yes, Severus, I can hear you. Loudly and clearly."

Clipped tones, over-precise enunciation, voice pitched slightly higher than usual – he ticked the items off a mental list. The hallmarks of a major snit; he'd have to tread carefully, or he'd be in big trouble. Severus decided for a last-minute change of tack. "I'll go down and make your excuses, shall I? So you may take all the time you need. Darling," he added as an afterthought, hoping that it wasn't going to sound like one.

"I have a mind to stay in my rooms and have an elf bring me dinner."

"Narcissa, be reasonable. Why-"

He'd known it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words left his mouth. He could've stopped himself – why was he incapable of just saying what she wanted to hear? He'd been very good at flattering Voldemort… Severus leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes, letting the words come at him like a hailstorm of glittering pins.

"It's you who is being completely unreasonable, Severus! It would have been sufficient to come here the night before the wedding, or even the morning of our wedding day. But no, you had to let yourself be manipulated by Lucius, who I'm sure is right now plotting how to ruin our day -"

"Narcissa, darling, we've already had that argument, and more than once. We both accepted his offer, remember?"

A big splash and a muttered imprecation – Severus suppressed a snort. Hitting the water with your fist was not such a good idea if you meant to keep your coiffure intact. "There is no need to be patronizing, Severus. I'm sure you can wrap your mind around the concept of things having changed – that Granger floozy was not supposed to be here."

"Don't call her that. I know you hate her-"

"Hate? _Hate_?" A peal of pearly, rather strained laughter echoed through the bathroom. "Severus, that girl is so far beneath me, I usually wouldn't even see her if she had her face painted green and that horrible mop she calls hair dyed bright orange. No, I'm worried about you – what if she's decided to disturb the harmony of our little family gathering, merely to spoil our big day? You're already under so much stress, darling, because it's going to be such a big wedding, and you know it's bad for your heart."

Although tempted to bang his head repeatedly against the door, Severus limited himself to a grim smile at the ambiguity of her words. Yes, "it" was indeed bad for his heart, though in a rather metaphorical sense; the lingering after-effects of Nagini's venom didn't have anything to do with it. He'd agreed to get married because... No. If he started to examine his reasons, he'd quickly find himself on top of a very slippery slope. A slope at the bottom of which there was Hermione...

"I'll be expecting you downstairs," he said curtly and turned on his heel, without bothering to wait for an answer.

When he closed the door between his and Narcissa's rooms, he saw Scorpius sitting nestled into one of the big armchairs in front of the fireplace, looking at him expectantly.

"Hello, Uncle Severus!" He frowned up at his godfather. "You're not very good at talking to women, I think. They don't like an infuriatingly calm demeanour. But…" Frown deepening, he shook his head. "They don't like having their hair pulled, either. Or being shouted at. They're very strange, don't you think?"

"A good evening to you, too, you shameless brat." He knelt down, stared at his godson until the child gave up and lowered his glance – and what had the world come to, if this victory gave him satisfaction – and reached out gently to twist his earlobe. "How often have I told you that you don't let people know you've been eavesdropping on them?"

"Granddad says that sometimes it's important to show people that you can."

"Who used to be a spy, Lucius or my good self?"

"Well you, but-"

"And do you believe you're already a sufficiently seasoned judge of character to determine whether you ought or ought not to show people 'that you can', as your grandfather puts it?"

"I don't know, really." Scorpius started playing with Severus' cufflink. "Uncle Severus, why are you getting married to Grand- I mean Narcissa?"

"Why _do_ people get married, Scorpius?"

Letting go of the cufflink, the boy shrugged. "How should I know? I'm way too young to get married, so I haven't really thought about it yet. I know Mum got married to Dad because she was pregnant with me and wanted to avoid a scandal, but-"

Severus thought he hadn't heard correctly. "Are you mad, boy? Who did you get this drivel from, anyway?"

"It's not drivel, it's the truth! I can't… You always say that one mustn't reveal one's sources! But I checked their marriage certificate, and my birth certificate, and they're only six months apart!"

"There is such a thing as premature birth, young man."

"I know that!" Scorpius said indignantly. "How stupid do you think I am? I know what premature babies look like, you remember Hugo's got a sister, Rose? She was eight weeks early, and she looked like something Bella dragged in – he showed me pictures. But I looked nothing like that! I was a big baby, with hair and everything!"

Severus gave a sigh of resignation, merely to cover up the chuckle that wanted out, and patted Scorpius' hand. "Just don't talk about these matters to anybody outside the family, Scorpius."

He got a conspiratorial grin in response to is admonition. "'course I won't. So, have you got Narcissa pregnant? Is that why you're marrying her?"

"Scorpius, this may be news to you, but there is a thing called privacy. Topics that people don't want to talk about, not even with their horrible godsons, and which others are not supposed to ask questions about. But no, Narcissa isn't pregnant. We're marrying for love, if you must know."

"Love? I thought you're in love with this Hermione?"

"Enough is enough, young man." Severus got to his feet. "It's your bedtime, and I'm already late for cocktails. Off you go, chop-chop!"

A small hand inserted itself between his fingers. "Granddad said I can stay up today, and have cocktails and dinner with the adults."

"Did he now?" Severus gave the hand a gentle squeeze. "Cocktails, huh? What are you going to have, Firewhisky or a glass of Lucius' best port?"

Scorpius raced to the door ahead of him, opened it and sketched an elegant bow. "After you, Uncle Severus." Out in the corridor, he took Severus' hand again. "I think I'm just going to have apple juice on the rocks. One of us has to stay sober and survey the proceeds."

"Proceedings," Severus corrected. "And yes, I do agree. One of us had better stay sober."

oooo


	4. Chapter 4

Wasn't it strange, Hermione mused, leaning against a bookshelf and for all the world thinking deep thoughts about almost-empty glasses, while surreptitiously mustering the people gathered in the library through her eyelashes, wasn't it strange how she'd never felt out of place at the Manor, whenever she'd been here in Severus' company, but should be feeling so horribly _de trop_ now?

To be honest, though, she'd been quite apprehensive about the social part of the evening starting in a much worse fashion than it actually had.

When she'd descended the stairs together with Neville and been shown into the library by a House Elf, only Lucius had been there. Seeing him again had been awkward; he'd kissed her hand with impeccable gallantry and shaken Neville's, but carefully avoided to meet her eyes, and their interaction had been more than a little strained, painfully limping from lull to lull. Thank the deities for Neville who had stepped in with a question about the Malfoy greenhouses and thus infused some lightness into a stilted conversation that might have easily gone awry.

When Lucius had briefly touched her arm and asked her about her work she'd realized, with a painful pang, how much she'd been missing him as well, not just Severus. Their eyes had met then, fleetingly, and what she saw there told her more clearly than words could have that she'd hurt him, more deeply than she'd thought possible perhaps.

Neville, however, had once more come to her rescue by turning the discussion Hermione had had earlier with her boss into a little anecdote; she had more or less blackmailed the man into giving her the next two days off work. As a matter of fact she'd pointed out that she'd be able to keep a discreet eye on the former Death Eater, in whose change of heart many still didn't believe, but Neville chose tactfully to omit that particular detail. Lucius' amusement had been more polite than genuine, but the tension had been diffused and she'd started to feel more at her ease.

The lightness had been short-lived, though, and given way to another onslaught of conflicting feelings when Severus entered the room accompanied by young Scorpius. "Awkward" didn't even come close to describing the avalanche of warring emotions hitting her with unexpected violence – again, Neville's presence and light-hearted charm had been more than helpful, and since she hadn't yet met Scorpius, she merely gave Severus a coolly polite greeting and left the three wizards to their small talk; she'd found a very enthusiastic conversation partner in the little boy, who'd told her how he'd come by his Kneazle Bella. The reprieve had been a brief one, because they'd been joined by Draco and Astoria, whose arrival somehow seemed to have caused the room temperature to drop considerably, and now everybody was contemplating a second cocktail and waiting for Narcissa to make her grand entrance.

Hermione had slowly but successfully drifted away from the others and positioned herself next to the bookcase containing the most recent additions to the library; once everybody was focusing on having their glasses refilled, she intended to grab whichever tome was within easy and unobtrusive reach and retire towards the sofa next to the fireplace. The sofa on which she and Lucius… Better not go there right now. It had been a mistake, which she'd paid for with the loss of a friendship.

Dampened though her spirits were, Hermione found herself smiling at the group composed of Neville, Draco and Severus – when exactly had Neville grown into the man he was now? That easy but genuine smile, the way he had of talking to people and making them feel at their ease... What kind of a friend _was_ she, really? She'd let him coddle and encourage her all day long, without sparing a single thought or question for him. Was he seeing anyone? Come to think of it, she could hardly believe that he should be unattached, but somehow there hadn't been a significant other for… Well, years, really. What a shame. And as for herself, she was taking him for granted, and resenting herself for doing so; she vowed to catch up with his life at the first opportunity presenting itself.

Lost as she was in her thoughts, Hermione almost jumped when something cold touched her hand.

"I thought you might want another drink, too" Scorpius said, handing her the glass he'd been using to get her attention.

"That's very kind of you." While she was still looking around for an appropriate place to get rid of her empty flute, a House Elf sidled up to her and took care of the problem. The boy obviously expected her undivided attention, so she motioned towards the sofa she didn't really want to think about. "Would you like to sit there with me?"

"I'd be delighted," he said, giving her a dazzling smile.

They made their way towards the fireplace; Hermione noticed that the boy remained standing until she had settled down and arranged the cushions to her liking. Astoria may be a snobbish cow, but at least she had taught the child manners.

"Are there many witches called Hermione?" Scorpius asked.

Hermione mentally awarded points for an excellent conversational gambit. "Not that I know of, no. There aren't many Muggles called Hermione, either – I'm Muggle-born, you know?"

"I know." Scorpius nodded sagely. "So it is a rather uncommon name – are you by any chance the same Hermione who made Dad pay a thousand-Galleon fine for misuse of Muggle artefacts?"

"That would be me, yes. The same Hermione, I mean. But I was acting as a prosecutor, that's the lawyer representing the Ministry in a court case. The one who made your father pay the fine was the judge, who decided that my arguments were better than those Draco's lawyer came up with."

There was a brief silence; Scorpius seemed to be rallying his spirits for something important. Hermione wasn't quite sure she was going to like it.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course." She took a sip of her champagne and admitted to herself that it was difficult to resist the boy's charm.

"Thank you. Please don't take this the wrong way – you're not here to put somebody in prison, are you?"

Hermione would have laughed out loud, but Scorpius was looking up at her with such genuine worry that she thought better of it. "No, Scorpius. I'm here because your grandfather invited me, and besides I'm sure nobody in this room has done anything that would warrant sending them to prison."

"Uncle Severus is marrying Granddad's former wife," Scorpius pointed out.

"That's true, but as you said, she's his former wife. Your grandmother and grandfather got divorced years ago, so it's not illegal for Severus to marry Narcissa. If she was still married to Lucius, she'd be a bigamist if she married Severus as well, and that would be a breach of the law."

"So she would go to prison?"

Hermione had liked the boy at first sight, but the hopeful glint in his eye positively endeared him to her. "Well I doubt she would go to prison," she said, unable to keep a note of regret from creeping into her voice, "Because you get prison sentences only for serious crimes like murder or using an Unforgiveable. She'd have to pay a hefty fine, though."

After a few moments of apparently deep thought, Scorpius scooted closer to her. "Don't you think that's strange?" he began.

"I don't think so. Marriage is a serious thing, and-"

"Not that, no. Sorry for interrupting you," he said piously, casting a sideways glance at his mother's back; she was deep in conversation with her father-in-law. "I mean, isn't it strange that you've got to pay a helpful fine, if you're married and get another husband, but being in love with one person and marrying another isn't forbidden? I mean it isn't forbidden, is it?"

"No it's not." Hermione gave him a reassuring smile. "And I know what you mean – I'm pretty fond of laws myself..."

"You know them all, don't you?"

"Well I wouldn't go that far. I know many of them, though."

"Oh." Scorpius seemed disappointed. "I thought you did, because Uncle Severus..." He bit his lip.

"What about Severus? Did he call me a know-it-all?"

"Erm, yes. And I guess I'm not supposed to tell you. But you knew anyway," he continued, visibly brightening up. "So I guess it doesn't count. Is he really still in love with you?"

"And wouldn't we all _love_ to hear the answer to that, Miss Granger," a glacial voice came from behind them.

oooo

She knew that Lucius was joining her on the terrace before she saw or heard him; the evening breeze carried a whiff of his cologne, and for a moment Hermione thought she'd start crying there and then. Lucius' slightly lemony scent and the juniper notes Severus preferred – they'd blended with each other in such perfect harmony, underscoring and enveloping Hermione's beloved green tea and lotus perfume... They'd been so good together, she and Severus.

She shuddered as a reassuringly warm hand came to rest on her bare shoulder. "Are you all right, Hermione?"

She shook her head, not quite trusting her voice yet.

"I'm sorry for Narcissa's behaviour, for all that it's worth."

Hermione swallowed. "I'm sure you are. She's free to express her displeasure, however. I don't care."

"I do, though." The hand started stroking up and down her arm. "I don't want to see you hurt."

"Really?" Turning slowly to face him, Hermione put her glass down on the stone balustrade. "I would understand if you enjoyed it."

"I may be vindictive, Hermione, but neither am I petty nor do I enjoy others fighting my fights. Not that that was what Narcissa was doing," he added.

"No. That fight is entirely her own." Her hand strayed to the collar of Lucius' robes before she realized what it was doing; it mirrored the movement of his fingers against her arm. "I'm... tired of it."

"Tired of what?"

"Just tired, I guess. Of having to face the tangible proof of my preternatural ability to destroy relationships, for one."

"You think _you_ destroyed your relationship with Severus?"

"It wasn't all my fault but... And I ruined what the two of us had as well."

"And yet we're standing here, the two of us, talking to each other like civilized people." He motioned for a House Elf to refresh both their drinks. "While Narcissa and Astoria are engaged in yet another round of Bitch Olympics."

"They seem to enjoy that, yes. I probably ought to be grateful – compared to these two, I must look positively angelic."

Lucius chuckled. "My dear, you'd have a hard time looking angelic even sitting next to Voldemort."

The comment certainly hadn't been meant to offend, but it stung, and now the tears were really coming. "That bad, am I?"

"You are..." Lucius withdrew his hand and half-turned his back to her, leaving her feeling bereft. "What do you want me to say? That you didn't hurt me? That it didn't matter?"

"I didn't care," Hermione whispered, compelled to honesty by his tone of voice. "Not back then, and not for some time after that – I just wanted..."

He sighed. "What did you want, Hermione? Revenge? Me?"

"Not you, no. Not as a person. As a body, yes, and as a source of warmth... It sounds even more horrible when I say it out loud, doesn't it?"

"On the whole it does seem preferable to being wanted as a source of money, though. At least you had the good taste to appreciate my body."

Hermione felt her throat go dry. It would be so simple... All she had to do was reach out, allow him a glimpse at her emotions. So simple, and so alluringly... logical. She had no doubt whatsoever that not only could the rift between them be mended instantly, but that a relationship with Lucius was actually possible. He was way smoother than Severus, less prone to arguing for the argument's sake. He didn't have the same need as Severus to assert himself at all times, to push her away merely to reassure himself that she'd come back to him no matter what. He didn't need her, even though he doubtlessly wanted her. With Lucius, there would be less danger of being burned, consumed. And still...

Lucius turned round again to face her, his expression unguarded and open for once. She could feel the tension crackling between them; she was teetering on the edge, the temptation to let herself fall into his arms stronger than ever.

Severus' measured footsteps on the flagstones had the effect of a bucket of ice cubes being emptied over her head – extremely unpleasant but sobering. A black silhouette against the inky night sky, Lucius' shoulders and neck stiffened visibly.

"Still hiding under night's velvety cloak?" Severus came to a halt between them and looked at them in turn. "Or am I disturbing something less... poetic?"

"Decidedly less poetic," Lucius said, the coolness of his tone betraying none of his emotions. "But entirely proper, I assure you."

"Oh, I wouldn't presume... Narcissa sends her apologies, Hermione."

She drew a sharp breath. "Your… wife is welcome at any time to make her apologies in person, Severus. If I am as unworthy of that waste of her time as I presume I am, I'd prefer to just let things stand as they are."

"As you wish," Severus replied stiffly. "I merely thought that, considering we all have to stay under the same roof-" He flinched backwards when Hermione rounded on him; the moonlight reflected in her eyes was making her face look empty and slightly demented.

"If I felt like having a good laugh, I'd ask you who you are, and what you've done with Severus Snape." She shoved him, her hand squarely on his chest, and he almost stumbled. "So who the fuck are you?" She pushed him again. "You haven't seen me in months, and the first thing you deign to say to me is that your _wife_" – she shoved again, harder – "apologizes for behaving like she always has?" She punched him in the ribs, putting all her strength behind her fist. "If that's all you have to say to me, if you have nothing to tell me but lies..." He made a grab for her hand but she pulled it back as if burned. "Leave me alone, Severus," she said tonelessly. "The roof we have the misfortune to be sharing is a very large one, so please do me a favour and make yourself scarce. I for my part can safely promise you I'll do the same."

Severus cleared his throat. "Very well. If that is what you want."

"I think I expressed myself clearly."

Without another word, Severus turned on his heel, robes billowing, and stiffly marched off towards the golden rectangle of the wide-open terrace door.

The sound of voices from inside the dining room grew louder, then was drowned out by the noise of chairs being moved, and finally it faded away. A door closed with a dull thud, and then the night was engulfing them with moist warmth and the chirping of crickets.

"What a spectacle," Lucius said hoarsely, breaking the quiet. "And what a fool I was..."

Hermione closed the distance between them in two steps. "I don't think so," she whispered, reaching around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

"Hermione..."

"Shut up," she hissed. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" It was a novel experience, having to force him bodily to comply, to bend down and kiss her. When their mouths finally touched she could feel his reluctance. It didn't last, though – at her insistence, his lips finally opened under hers, and his arms came around her, his hands frantically mapping her body. "Yes," Hermione muttered into his hair, as his lips wandered down, under her chin and to the curve of neck and shoulders. "Yes, Lucius." His hand went between her thighs, and she spread her legs as far as the narrow cut of her gown would allow. "Like that, yes." She felt his fingers insinuating themselves under the elastic of her knickers, and then the electric jolt slicing through her as he slid a finger into her. "Let's go to bed, shall we?"

Lucius straightened up slowly and retrieved his hand from under her skirt. He was swaying slightly, as if drunk. "I don't think so," he said, echoing her own words.

"What?"

"I don't think so," he repeated. "I have already made that particular mistake, and I pride myself on never repeating any mistakes I've made. I will not allow you to use me again, however much I want you."

"That's ridiculous! I'm not using you!"

"No? Please feel free to explain what exactly you were doing, then. It was going to be the same all over again – Severus hurts you, and you have nothing better to do than jump straight into my bed. Or have you discovered your deep and everlasting love for me between the main course and dessert?"

"I..." She held her hand out to touch him, but he moved out of her reach.

"Go to bed, Hermione." He looked up at the first floor windows, all of them dark and forbidding. "It is late."

Hermione remained rooted to the spot, staring at his retreating back and feeling lonelier and more empty than she had in months. Finally she pulled herself together and went back inside; a lone candle was burning in a wall sconce in the dining room, where the elves had long cleared away the debris of their dinner. She didn't want to go up to her room just now, but staying in the tomb-like silence of this salon amongst the long, flickering shadows would be worse.

She ended up in the library, half-sitting, half-lying back on _that_ sofa, drinking brandy from the bottle as if there was no tomorrow. If she had a say in the matter, there wouldn't be one, either.

In the small hours of the morning, when the House Elves were already beginning to go about their business, a yawning Neville stumbled into the library, picked up his friend and carried her upstairs to her room.

The doors lining the corridor were closed. All but one.

A blue eye peeked past the door handle and through the narrow crack, and pensively followed Neville's strenuous, panting progress towards the guest rooms.

oooo


	5. Chapter 5

This is the Manor's favourite time of day: the early hours of the morning, when the House Elves tell it stories while they clean and polish and prepare food for the humans that haven't yet woken up.

The sun is slowly rising, and the Manor's night-cool walls feel its gentle caress. The foundations are always cold, but that is as it should be – the powerful magic living in them needs the dank chill to remain alive and strong.

Already some of the inhabitants have left the realm of sleep.

This is the time when they need the Manor's protection most: naked and helpless they cross the chasm between sleep and wakefulness, and the Manor has to watch over their vulnerability. It engulfs them, not quite lovingly but devoted to them, and lets their emotions flood through its limbs of stone. It hums its contentment along invisible connections, feeling them out, infusing them with centuries-old strength.

The Manor cares most about its Master. He is up early, much earlier than usual. The emotions coursing through him are strong – love, tinged with darkness at its edges, and yearning, deep and vibrant. He, too, strives to protect the humans sleeping under the Manor's roof; not all of them equally, and in a different way than the Manor, both more superficial and more complex.

The Manor's magic reaches out to its Master's thoughts, becomes one with them, acquaints itself with his intentions.

Now it knows what it has to do.

The Manor slowly and gently pulls back from the humans and settles down again, solid and imperturbable, to soak sunlight into its walls.

oooo

The House Elves had neglected to draw the curtains in his bedroom properly; Lucius was lying on his back, his right forearm thrown across his face to protect him from the insistence of the morning sunshine. While he was lovingly contemplating possible ways of punishing the lazy little buggers, three things occurred to him.

Firstly, that the curtains had, indeed, been closed when he entered the room last night – he'd opened them a crack in the hope of catching a glimpse of Hermione on the terrace, but she'd already left.

Secondly, that he was sporting a morning erection roughly the size of the Eiffel Tower.

Thirdly, that his left hand was buried in a soft, curly mass of hair. This realization did have a certain engorging influence on number two.

Not overly keen to end too abruptly what could only be an all-too-realistic fantasy born from certain overheated dreams he'd been having , Lucius gently moved his left hand. The mop of hair was still there, and so was the erection. He wracked his brain – was it possible that abandoning a needy Hermione on hormone overdrive had been a dream, and that he'd actually taken her up to his room? He couldn't remember a thing, and he hadn't been drunk, so the probability of events having unfolded that way was approximately zero.

Maybe she'd joined him later on, merely to share his bed in an entirely platonic way? Not bloody likely but possible.

He moved his fingers again – the hair was still there, soft and silky.

If it quacks like a duck and waddles like a duck… Lucius rolled over and transferred his right hand from his face to… He froze, suddenly wide awake; the same couldn't be said about his cock, which was wilting away into a state of complete nothingness.

Scorpius mewled softly in his sleep and inserted his thumb into his mouth.

Lucius sighed. It had been too good to be true, really. He'd left Hermione on the terrace, high and dry… well not that dry, truth be told. Rather the contrary. And now he was sharing a bed with his grandson. It was probably karmic, or at least deeply symbolic, not to mention highly frustrating.

He tickled Scorpius' ribs. The child giggled in his sleep.

Lucius poked the ribcage with his forefinger, not too forcefully, and Scorpius stared at him out of sleepy blue eyes. "I saw them," he muttered, eyelids already fluttering shut.

Unable as always to resist his grandson's wily charm, Lucius inserted his forearm under the tousled blond head and tickled Scorpius' nose. "Whom did you see, Scorpius?"

"Them." Scorpius yawned hugely and snuggled closer. "Hermione and the guy she arrived with, Dad's friend… Neville, right?"

"I saw them too, Scorpius. Last night during dinner. You will have to give me a better reason for this intrusion." His hand stroking the curly hair belied his severe tone of voice.

"Not at dinner. Later, at dawn. He was carrying her to her room."

"Was he now." Lucius' hand stilled, and he narrowed his eyes at Scorpius. "You probably dreamed that."

Scorpius' eyebrows rose. "I'm not a Hippogriff, Granddad. I don't sleep standing on my feet, and you have to be asleep in order to dream, right?"

"You could have been dreaming that you were standing on your feet."

"My feet were bloody cold, and-"

"Language, Scorpius."

"All right. My feet were very, very cold, and that wasn't a dream. I was woken by somebody making a lot of noise walking along the corridor, and so I got out of bed to see whether we were being burgled."

"Burglars don't usually-"

"I know," Scorpius interrupted him impatiently. "I didn't really think it was a burglar, but Neville – of course I didn't know yet that it was Neville…"

"Scorpius, it's" – Lucius craned his neck to look at the clock on his bedside table – "not yet seven, and I'm not a morning person."

"Neither am I, Granddad. But this is nice, isn't it?" He started combing Lucius' hair with his fingers. "I've never seen you with your hair all dish… What's the word?"

"Dishevelled. And you're not supposed to see me with my hair all dishevelled. Not that yours is in a much better state, I might add." Scorpius giggled and continued to disentangle the blond strands. "Back to our topic, though. If I understand you correctly, you were woken by strange noises coming from the corridor, and?"

"And I thought it was… You're not going to laugh, are you? Or tell Mum and Dad?"

"Certainly not."

"Okay. I thought it was maybe a wolf."

"A… How intriguing. Why?"

"Well…" Scorpius dedicated himself to his self-appointed task with more concentration than strictly necessary. "You remember the book of Muggle fairy tales Dad gave me? And the story you used to read me? The one about the three little pigs?"

Having read the story roughly three thousand times to his grandson, with different voices – enjoying himself hugely, not that he was going to tell anybody that – Lucius did, indeed, remember. "I take it the person in question, whom you then recognized as Mr Longbottom, was, erm, huffing and puffing?"

"Uh-huh."

"And you were afraid?"

"A bit, yes. Not too badly, because I know it's just a story and the wolf isn't real, but you know how it is when it's dark – all those shadows, they start to look like… Like things you're afraid of. You know that black thing is just your school robes on a chair, but suddenly you start thinking it might be an enormous dog with glowing eyes."

Being an expert in nightmares and waking up bathed in cold sweat to a house that had been his but suddenly become a hostile place where monsters were lurking, Lucius sympathized with his grandson. He felt a sudden rush of protective love for the child that lay next to him, head resting on his arm, and playing with his hair. Regret eating away at his heart was mostly a thing of the past now, but he couldn't help thinking how differently things might have gone, had he expressed his love for Draco in the same way as he now did to his grandson. Draco wouldn't even have dreamed of entering his parents' bedroom…

A tug at his hair brought him back to the here and now.

"You're not listening, Granddad."

"Sorry, I was a bit distracted. You were saying?"

"I was asking if you thought I'm stupid."

"I think you were being less than circumspect – you were afraid, after all, and you didn't know what was out there in the corridor."

"Oh, a new word!" Scorpius exclaimed, delighted. "What was it again?"

"Circumspect. It means careful, or cautious, and its origin is Latin – _circumspicere_, which literally means to look around."

"I like words," Scorpius said.

"I'd gathered as much, yes. So you saw Mr Longbottom, huffing and puffing…"

"Oh, that. Yes, he was carrying Hermione – I don't think she's that heavy, do you? I think Neville is probably not very fit."

Nobly refraining from casting aspersions on Longbottom – it was bad enough that Astoria never showed such restraint – Lucius merely observed, "Well, he had to carry her up the stairs. And you'd be surprised at how heavy a dead weight – she was asleep, wasn't she?"

"I'd say drunk," Scorpius said slowly, after pondering the question for a moment. "I could smell it from where I was hiding behind the door. I know I'm not supposed to know that," he added, seeing Lucius' frown. "But you remember last summer, when Hermione had broken up with Uncle Severus? He smelled like that a lot, even though Mum said he was severely depressed."

Good heavens, the child was too clever by half. And he had his eyes and ears everywhere, the little brat. "Let's not assume anything, Scorpius. Maybe she was just asleep and had spilled a drink on her dress."

"Yeah, sure," Scorpius muttered.

"Scorpius, I meant what I said – you do not go round telling things about people, especially if they are based on mere assumption or interpretation. It's inelegant, and can easily backfire."

Scorpius gave the matter some thought, forehead crinkling. "But Mum does that a lot."

"That's neither here nor there. I don't want you to do it." Why, oh why had Draco had to marry that jumped-up harridan? Given that the old times hadn't been all that good, especially as far as the final outcome was concerned, he didn't exactly pine for them, but they hadn't been all bad, either. A hundred years ago, a male heir fathered on an unworthy witch would simply have been taken away from her; she'd have received a sufficient amount of money to set her up comfortably in France, and good riddance.

"Okay." Scorpius looked a bit subdued, but not for long. "But I'm allowed to tell you that Neville carried Hermione into her room, right?"

"That, Scorpius, is a fact, as opposed to mere conjecture. And while I would strongly discourage you from telling anybody else, it is certainly all right to tell me."

"Good. Because that's what he did. He carried her into her room."

"And then you went back to bed?"

His question was met with silence and a speculative, slightly doubtful glance.

Lucius sighed. "Of course you didn't. You sneaked after them, didn't you?"

"Would it be bad if I did? Because if it's bad, I might have stayed in my room and gone back to bed. Or" – he wrinkled his nose – "is it _bad manners_?"

The parody of his mother's expression and tone of voice was eerily accurate; Lucius struggled not to laugh. "Very bad manners," he confirmed gravely. "But you already as good as told me that you did, indeed, follow them, so why not tell me everything."

"There isn't much to tell. He dumped her on the bed. Then he took off her shoes and opened the window. Then… then he called one of your House Elves and told it to take her some… some overhanging potion, I think he said, and water together with her morning tea. And that's it – no, he also kissed the tip of her nose. And then he went back to his own room. Not very interesting, is it? I mean compared to a wolf."

"Whether something is interesting or not lies mostly in the eye of the beholder."

"You do know a lot of really good words, Granddad," Scorpius said, yawned and fell instantly asleep.

Lucius watched him for a while, tracing the smiling lips with a gentle forefinger and resting his palm on the narrow chest that was rising and falling with the child's deep, regular breaths, feeling his heartbeat.

He couldn't go back to sleep now, so he'd rather make good use of the early hour. With everything that had come to pass last night, today might very well be a crucial day requiring careful planning. He wasn't going to leave its choreography to the fates.

oooo


	6. Chapter 6

It was already past nine when Neville slowly made his way downstairs for breakfast. He was usually an early riser, both by nature and because his work demanded it; last night had been a bit on the alcoholic side, though, especially once the cocktail hour had taken a decidedly inauspicious turn after Narcissa joined them. Having fallen into bed fairly inebriated, he'd woken thirsty and disoriented after only a few hours of uneasy slumber, and then had trouble going back to sleep after carrying a surprisingly heavy Hermione up to her room.

He briefly contemplated checking on her but thought better of it. If she was already up at all, she'd probably be in a hex-first-talk-later mood now, considering that the first part of their stay at the Manor didn't seem to have worked out well for her – whatever had happened out there on the terrace couldn't have been pleasant, seeing as she'd seen fit to marinate herself in brandy. He was going to coax it out of her eventually, but doing so on an empty stomach didn't seem advisable.

Even though he'd never been to the Manor before, he was pretty sure where the breakfast parlour was – strange that, as if the house were telling him where to direct his steps…

Come to think of it, it probably was. Wizarding houses as old as this one did have their very own, highly individual and sometimes temperamental brand of magic, after all. It was common knowledge, really, even though some people preferred to call it atmosphere, thus downsizing it to something less potentially harmful or frightening. Considering the more dubious aspects of Malfoy family history, not to mention the dark past of some of its current members, Neville had been surprised at how profoundly benign the Manor felt. No wonder Lucius had been looking half-crazy at the end of the war – the malignant presence of Voldemort and his minions must have wreaked havoc with the house's, and subsequently Lucius', magic. Which, Neville thought while turning the door handle, went a long way towards proving that Malfoy had, indeed, undergone a drastic change; the man looked hale and healthy, and not at all like a wizard at war with his own ancestral home.

Neville's stomach growled in answer to the fragrance of fried bacon, coffee and freshly-baked bread welcoming him to the small, north-facing salon. The windows were open, letting in a gentle, rose-scented morning breeze. A round table was set for two; Neville smirked to himself – maybe breakfast was being served in more than one room, so as to keep the opposing parties well separated.

He helped himself to tea, poached eggs and bacon, and had just returned to the sideboard to have a look at the bread basket, when the door opened and in strode Severus.

Neville looked over his shoulder. "Morning, Snape. Had a good night?"

"Tolerable." Severus joined him at the buffet and began heaping a plate with fried eggs and tomatoes. "You're looking a bit rumpled," he remarked to Neville.

"How nice of you to mention it." Severus shrugged, predictably unconcerned about niceties, and Neville grinned to himself, imagining how Snape would react if he disclosed what he'd been doing four hours ago. "I didn't sleep all that well, actually," he said instead, "and felt too hungry to shave before breakfast. I considered having it brought up to my room, but somehow changed my mind."

Severus grunted in what could be interpreted as assent. "So did I, but…"

"Narcissa isn't in the best of moods, I take it?"

"And what would you know about that, Longbottom?" Severus said scathingly.

"Not as much as you do, I'm sure. But since I've become friends with Draco I've been gaining some, let us say insights."

Severus made a noncommittal noise.

"Now there's a guy who went from the frying pan right into the fire," Neville continued, returning to the table.

"As far as the women in his life are concerned, I have to say you've got a point. Astoria is… a little difficult."

"I wish you'd been this considerate in your choice of adjectives in Potions classes, Snape."

"You melted cauldrons, Longbottom. You were a danger to your fellow students."

"True," Neville said good-naturedly, while carefully buttering a piece of white bread studded with nuts. "And you were a sour bastard, though you had every right to be. No hard feelings on my side." He bit into his bread with relish and proceeded to put salt on his eggs. "Astoria, on the other hand, has no such justification for doing her best to make the lives of both your godsons every bit as dull and boring as her own."

"Draco married her of his own volition," Severus said repressively. "It's his own fault that he's now settled with a shrill harpy whose only pleasure consists in bitching about her acquaintances."

"Do I detect a whiff of sympathy there?"

"Mind your own business, Longbottom."

"That's exactly what I'm doing. Hermione is my business, too, you see."

Severus shot up from his chair so abruptly that it keeled over and clattered to the floor. "This has gone far enough," he hissed, staring at Neville with narrowed eyes. "If you are unable to keep your nose out of other people's lives, I leave you to pursue this… sordid pastime in solitude." He flung his napkin on the table and made for the door.

Neville sighed to himself but made no attempt to hold him back – his hopes for a rational exchange on the subject of Hermione hadn't been high in any case.

When Severus' fist came down on the white tablecloth, no more than a hair's breadth from his teacup, he looked up in surprise. "I thought you were going to make a dramatic exit, robes billowing and all that."

"You know all too well that I can't, and if you treasure your worthless existence, you'd better open that door."

"I'm not a House Elf. Open it yourself." He reached for another slice of bread, but Severus' hand clamping around his wrist stopped him in mid-movement, squeezing painfully. "Have you gone crazy, man? What do you think you're doing?" He tried to keep his voice calm, but it was a bit difficult with his childhood nemesis giving him Potions lessons flashbacks by glowering down at him and exuding anger.

Severus hesitated, looked from Neville to the door and back again and then slowly loosened his iron grip; shaking his head, he sank down on the chair next to him. "I, erm, apologize. Obviously this isn't your doing after all."

Flexing his fingers and glad that his right hand was still fully functional, Neville shot him a sideways glance. "I don't mean to be rude, but what the hell was that all about?"

"The door, you utter dunderhead. The door appears to be locked, and won't budge."

Neville shrugged and drew his wand, pointing it at the door. "_Alohomora_!" The spell bounced off the lock and towards the sideboard, where the lids lifted obediently off the serving dishes, eggs cracked open and bananas started peeling themselves. "I think," Neville said, "that you'd better get back to your place and sit down. This isn't human magic – if you ask me, it's either the House Elves or the house itself. They mean for us to stay in here."

"Hmm." Severus gave Neville a long stare before leaving the chair he was currently occupying, to pick his own up from the floor and sit down again. "Loath as I am to say so, you're probably right. However" – he turned to look at the windows – "considering that this room is on the ground floor, I might try and get out through the window."

There was a faint noise, a soft crackling and rustling, and the room went slightly darker as tendrils of rose and ivy began to grow and criss-cross up along the frame, slowly weaving themselves into a living, green barrier.

"So much for getting out through the window," Neville stated flatly.

"It's roses and ivy, Longbottom, not Venomous Tentacula." Severus rose again to his feet – all that up and down was beginning to make Neville a bit dizzy – and approached the window. He slowly extended his hand, only to withdraw it instantly. "Ouch! The buggers stung me!"

"They are roses, Snape. What did you expect them to do? Kiss you?"

"Very funny, Longbottom. I know that roses have thorns, but they're not supposed to actively prick you!"

"If the house makes them grow to keep us in here, I guess that's what they're supposed to do."

"Does stating the obvious come naturally to you, or did you have special training?"

Neville leaned back in his chair. "Cool off, Snape. The house is benign, and we have things to discuss. Better to get it over with as quickly as possible, don't you think?"

"It's not that simple, Longbottom. Firstly, I'm not going to discuss Hermione with you-"

"Why not? Have you discussed her with anybody? Or do you think you're the only human being who doesn't need to talk about something that's clearly troubling you?"

"Talking is overrated," Severus spat. "All that touchy-feely nonsense – what's it good for? Merely to give people something to prattle about, and in the end ridicule you."

"Is that what you think I'm going to do? Get you to talk to me, so that I can go round gossiping to everybody about your feelings and then have a good laugh, because Snape the Bastard got smacked over the head by fate?"

The glare Severus shot him was probably meant to be withering, but somehow lacked force. "Perhaps you wouldn't," he admitted gruffly.

"I most certainly wouldn't. More to the point, I know what's going on in Hermione's head, or at least I have a pretty good idea, and you don't."

The silence that ensued wasn't exactly uncomfortable but tense.

Severus was the one to break it. "I've had my chance with Hermione. Whatever she thinks or feels, we can't go back. I can't go back. Or have you forgotten that there's a wedding in two days, and I'm one of the protagonists?"

"Well, strictly speaking, there could still be a wedding, with you as one of the protagonists. We'd have to switch the other one, though."

"I don't think Narcissa would agree to that, or Hermione for that matter."

"I've heard more convincing ways of saying no."

"Longbottom – oh, what the hell, Neville, I'm not saying that I don't have… That is to say..." He toyed with his teaspoon. "Whatever my feelings may or may not be – and I'd thank you to keep your speculations as to their nature to yourself – I have pledged my word that I'm going to marry Narcissa, by exchanging engagement rings, and I'm not going to break that promise."

Neville felt the urge to roll his eyes, but resisted. His hook-nosed former professor may be a stubborn git, but at least he was an honourable stubborn git. Besides, he doubted that another chance of having a talk with him was going to come along anytime soon, and it would be a shame to ruin the moment by giving in to a childish reflex. "You've always been too noble for your own good."

"Careful, Longbottom. You're treading on very thin ice here." Severus refilled his cup, hands trembling slightly. "Between the two of us, I'll admit that I've come to hold you in high esteem professionally, and that you've grown up to be a decent human being. That, however, doesn't give you the right-"

"I understand," Neville interrupted him. "And believe me, I respect your need for privacy. But I like you – don't ask me why, really, but that's how it is – and Hermione is one of my dearest friends. So you'll understand that it pains me to see you both deeply unhappy."

"I'm not unhappy," Severus replied calmly.

"I'm not going to tell you how you're feeling, but has it occurred to you that you could actually be happy with Hermione? As opposed to 'not unhappy'?"

Severus buried his head in his hands. "I told you already that there is no way."

"Maybe you just can't see it yet." Neville reached over to pat his former nemesis' shoulder. "But it's good to know that you're not actually keen on marrying Narcissa."

"No," came the muffled reply. "I'm not actually keen on marrying Narcissa. Are you happy now?"

With a soft 'click', the door sprang open.

oooo

Giving her image in the mirror a last, approving glance, Narcissa held her hand out for the dressing gown a House Elf was floating towards her. It was a veritable work of art, crafted from ice-blue spider silk shot through with platinum thread at the hems – goblin-made thread that was as supple and soft as the fabric. Maybe the creation was a little demure for her age; she wasn't yet fifty, after all, and still visibly in her prime. Then again, she wasn't planning to seduce but to talk, and therefore the garment was entirely appropriate.

She tied the sash around her waist and walked over to the large mirror to check her appearance. Maybe she ought to wear her hair down? She stood for a moment, pondering. No, better leave it as it was, loosely twisted up and held in place by a barrette. Having it flow freely around her shoulders might give Lucius an entirely wrong impression.

Her wand was on her dressing table; Narcissa slipped it into a narrow pocket on the inside of her sleeve and left the room.

The bedroom, no Lucius' bedroom, she mentally corrected herself, was five doors down the corridor from her own. Her own – not really, she thought, lips twisting into a resentful moue. The room she'd been assigned by the Master of the Manor. She was merely a guest now.

Once she'd reached Lucius' doorstep she put her ear to the door. No noise was coming from within. He was probably still asleep; it must have got late last night, she thought, seeing as he had been so busy consoling the Mudblood.

The mere recollection made her gut clench in anger.

Not for a second did she believe the explanation Lucius had all-too-readily offered for Granger and Longbottom's unexpected presence – true, it was preferable to have _The Quibbler_ report on the wedding, instead of allowing Rita Skeeter to tarnish its glory by the touch of her greedy fingers and gaudily painted talons. Longbottom was an excellent photographer, true. If his writing style wasn't quite up to scratch, though, there'd be hundreds, well certainly dozens of reporters able and willing to step up. Granger wasn't even a writer, for Merlin's sake. The account of her nuptials was likely going to sound like one of the boring, no-nonsense legal texts Miss Bluestocking spent her time scribbling in some dark, dingy office…

Yes, it was indeed time to have a word with Lucius, to find out exactly what his motives were.

There was no way that it was as simple as putting the Granger floozy right under Severus' nose, in the hopes that he'd abandon his soon-to-be wife and run back to her. That wasn't how Lucius' devious, twisted mind worked. True, he'd convinced Severus some weeks ago already that it would be more comfortable for the two of them to arrive a few days before the wedding, and she had reluctantly consented, as reluctantly as she'd accepted her former husband's offer to hold the wedding here. True, he'd opposed any press coverage whatsoever right from the beginning, and maybe he'd changed his mind as recently as he claimed to – it had been Severus, after all, to conduct the negotiations, since she and Lucius had only just returned to being on speaking terms, however strained and icy. To choose Granger, however… It couldn't be as simple as that, or could it?

She opened and closed the door almost noiselessly; upon seeing who was sleeping in the large four-poster, she drew a sharp breath that covered the near-inaudible click of the door sealing itself shut.

Narcissa hated that little boy. So much that it hurt. She leaned back against the door, hands balled into fists, and looked at the sleeping child.

So much like Draco.

So much like her own little boy, whom she had loved more than life itself, more even than she had still loved Lucius at the time. Giving birth to him had almost killed her, but she'd loved him from the moment they'd put him in her arms. What a difficult baby he'd been; sleepless nights, tears of frustration and desperate anger, because he wouldn't stop crying. But she had loved him all the same. Lucius had gradually faded into unimportance – he'd given her Draco, true, but he'd never loved her. Oh, he'd been smitten, even lusted after her for a time, but he'd been incapable of loving her as she loved him. In hindsight, she now knew her own feelings for what they'd been; it was easy to mistake infatuation and physical attraction for love, after all, when you were a mere eighteen years old. Those feelings had worn thin, though, until in the end they'd just fallen apart like a shabby piece of clothing, and there'd been nothing to replace them.

Later, Lucius had cajoled her son away from her, bribed him with gifts and Quidditch and things she would never have allowed him to do; then he'd sent him off to Hogwarts, and she'd lost Draco as well. He'd grown more distant every time he came home, hadn't wanted to be held and cuddled and protected – somehow all those feelings and needs had turned sour in her soul when there was nobody anymore on whom she could lavish them.

Then the dark years had come, and even they hadn't been sufficient to bring them closer, unite them as a family. So she'd turned to Bella, her brilliant, crazy sister, but that, too, had gone horribly wrong.

If only somebody had allowed her to love them – Lucius, Draco, Bella… one of her nearest and dearest. She would've protected them, shielded them.

Seeing her grandson at peace, sleeping in Lucius' bed as if he belonged there, brought back the desperate loneliness she'd felt, and a rush of wild, helpless fury so violent that for a moment she was afraid she was going to faint.

When she'd recovered sufficiently to trust her legs to carry her over to the bed, she slowly crossed the room and sat down on the jumble of sheets surrounding the boy like a cocoon. He didn't need her, either. He didn't even know her. He had his parents, his grandfather and Severus to love and protect him, and he obviously craved their love and protection. Not hers, but she didn't really hate him for it. Not him. She hated what he was reminding her of, but he had no part in it.

Careful not to wake him, Narcissa touched Scorpius' hair. It was soft, and slightly damp – it had to be hot under the covers. It was going to be another hot day, with no sign of the weather changing anytime soon. It would be hot on her wedding day, too.

The day after tomorrow, the day she was going to become Severus' wife – yet another man who didn't need her, and she doubted whether he loved her. He'd been desperately sad and lonely when they'd met six months ago in Diagon Alley, by mere coincidence. For a while, he had needed her and taken all she had to offer. That was a thing of the past, though; she could feel him retreating to some place she wasn't able to reach him. A place where he could be with the Granger girl… Regardless of whatever he had to say on the subject – and that certainly wasn't much – Narcissa was sure that he still loved the girl.

So she was going to be lonely again, even if they got married – Narcissa sat up straight, as if stung. _Even if_? Had the wedding become nothing more than a remote possibility overnight? It had seemed so real. She'd done her best to make it real, inviting more guests, ordering more flowers, putting more exotic delicacies on the menu. Those pictures in _Witch Weekly_ were real, weren't they? Four pages, all about the wedding… But did she actually want it to happen?

She traced the line of Scorpius' forearm with her fingertips and willed herself to look at the place deep inside her that had been closed off for a long time. Severus knew nothing about it; Lucius had never cared about it, and she'd abandoned it many years ago. An important part of her was there, wanting out. It was that part that knew, with unshakeable, steely certainty, that Severus' proposal had been an act of defiance, not love. If she married Severus, it would have to remain there, blind and starving, maybe die there. Narcissa felt her throat close. She'd given in often enough and made herself into a person that was and wasn't her. So maybe it was time…

Whatever Lucius was planning – and she was sure that it didn't bode well for the wedding, despite his assurances to the contrary – maybe he was doing her a favour.

She didn't need another failed marriage. She needed love, and even though she was still young, every day she didn't spend trying to find it was a lost day.

She didn't want to marry Severus. Now all she had to do was think of a way to tell him.

Narcissa bent over her grandson and kissed his cheek. The small noise covered the almost inaudible click of the door unsealing itself.

oooo


	7. Chapter 7

Cissy the House Elf, whom Lucius had acquired after Narcissa had left him (and taken no small pleasure in naming) refilled his coffee cup. Lucius took a sip and went back to the notes he'd been jotting down on a piece of parchment, outlining his plans for the day. He'd get Longbottom and Scorpius to play Quidditch with him, Narcissa would be distracted by a couple of elves discussing last-minute wedding preparations, and Cissy was to be tasked with luring Severus and Hermione into the same room, by whichever wile and guile it took, and lock them in if necessary.

Lucius was in no doubt as to his own feelings for Hermione; after the conversation he'd overheard the afternoon before between her and Longbottom, he even had certain hopes for the future. Before any of them could become reality, though, she had to make a clean slate with Severus – last night had brought home that truth rather painfully. A new beginning or a clear cut. It was against his nature to leave decisions regarding him to others, but too much was at stake. For once, he'd have to be patient and wait which way the dice would roll.

A look at the clock on the mantelpiece told him that it was almost ten a.m.; he put down his quill and sat still for a moment, listening. "Where the hell is everybody?" he muttered. Then he asked Cissy, "Have you taken Miss Granger her tea?"

The elf nodded. "Yes, Master. I takes her tea and hangover potion and water, just as Mister Neville says."

"Good." Lucius drummed his fingers on the parchment. "Was she all right?"

"Miss Hermione is being in a very bad mood, I thinks. She says something about having to kill herself, and then she goes back to sleep."

"Drama queen," Lucius muttered. He did feel a twinge of concern, though – as far as he knew her, Hermione was the last person on earth who would ever commit suicide. After Scorpius had told him what he'd seen, though, he'd spoken to the House Elves; the bottle they'd found under the sofa in the library had been empty, which meant that she'd had more than a pint of brandy. A lot of it still had to be in her bloodstream, and you never knew… "Oh, bugger this for a lark," he growled to himself.

"I begs your pardon, Master?"

"Nothing. She went back to sleep, you said?"

"Yes, Master. She snores. In a very pretty way."

"Hmm. Clear away the breakfast things and bring me a cup of strong tea and a vial of Headache Potion."

Cissy looked anxious. "Is Master being sick?"

"No, I'm not sick, so don't get your hopes up. And not that it's any of your business, but the tea and potion are for Miss Granger. So you better be quick about it."

Flappy ears on half-mast, Cissy shuffled her feet. "Sorry Master, I doesn't understand – is I to take the tea to Miss Hermione."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "No, you brain-dead, insufferable creature. You're to bring the tea and potion to me, here, in my study, and I am going to take it to Miss Granger's room."

"Master…" The green eyes bulged. "Master is going to _serve_…?"

"Master is going to apply his boot to your backside unless you do exactly as I said. Understood?"

"Yes, Master. Shalls I bring your boots, because you is wearing slippers?"

"Gods give me strength. Out!" he bellowed, "And if that tea isn't on this table in ten seconds, it'll be clothes!"

The tea and potion arrived within a mere two seconds, and Lucius carefully carried them upstairs. Not a sound was to be heard – where _was_ everybody? Surely they weren't all asleep at this time of day, but when he'd passed the breakfast room, he hadn't heard the clatter of cutlery or murmur of conversation that usually accompanied breakfast.

Never mind that now, however; he'd arrived at Hermione's door and would need all his wits about him. A repetition of last night's attempt at seduction seemed unlikely – thank the deities for small mercies, for he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to withstand another onslaught of horny Hermione – but a barrage of hexes might well be coming his way, and an angry, hurt Hermione was going to put a lot of power behind them.

Holding the vial between his teeth, Lucius pulled his wand from his sleeve and cast a Shielding Charm. It would hold until he'd put down the teacup, and once he had regained freedom of movement he'd be well able to defend himself.

No answer came when he knocked on the door, and after a short deliberation Lucius let himself into the room. To judge by the sound of running water coming from the en-suite, Hermione was busy with her morning toilette. He put the cup on the coffee table under a Warming Charm and laid the vial of potion next to it. Having established that Hermione was still inhabiting her mortal coil, he ought to do the reasonable thing and leave, but he couldn't quite bring himself to decamp and settled down in one of the armchairs. Not, however, without positioning it in such a way that he could easily Summon Hermione's wand in case she made a grab for it.

Forewarned, as it turned out, was indeed forearmed.

He calmly pocketed her wand and waited for Hermione to make her next move, half-hoping, half-fearing that she was going to attack him bodily. It would be an excellent pretext for getting his hands on her, but could he trust himself not to let it go any further? The lotus-and-green-tea scent she'd just applied on hot, damp skin was enough to make him doubt his willpower.

"You have _no_ right to intrude," Hermione fumed, "And I don't care that you own the bloody place – I'm your guest and entitled to a modicum of respect for my privacy!"

Lucius inclined his head. "I apologize. I merely wanted to make sure you were all right."

"You have a bloody cheek – one minute you have your fingers up my cunt, the next you reject me, and now you're sitting here looking as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, because you mean to make sure I'm all right? Has everybody in this house gone completely crazy?"

"I wouldn't presume to speak for the others, but I assure you _I_ am compos mentis. Since you seem to be in excellent form, I think you will kindly excuse me."

"How…" Hermione raked a hand through her still-moist hair. "How can you be like this? I know you must be feeling something, but here you are, your right ankle exactly five centimetres over your left ankle, your arms crossed in exactly the right way so your shirt won't be rumpled, completely calm and composed, and using elegant turns of phrase. Why don't you… why do you never, ever show any fucking emotions?"

"I don't think it would be very helpful, to tell you the truth."

Hands balled into fists, Hermione moved two steps closer. "Helpful. Okay, so do you think driving me crazy is helpful? I think you're enjoying this – how did you put it last night? This spectacle."

"I am most emphatically _not_ enjoying it. Coming here was a mistake, I can see that now." He got to his feet, inclined his head slightly and stalked towards the door. "As for you having to put up with my undoubtedly offensive presence in this house – may I remind you that you asked to be invited." He turned the handle; attempting to fight a fresh wave of anger, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Hermione, this is childish. Open the door please."

"It's open," she said. "You were here all the time – you would've seen if I'd locked it. Which I haven't. It's probably stuck or something." She came over to stand next to him. "Let me try." The handle turned, but the door did not open. "Well… this is strange. Somebody must have locked it from outside." Realizing how close they were standing, she took a step back. "Use your wand, then."

He nodded, pulled both their wands from his pocket and handed her hers. _Alohomora_ yielded no discernible result other than the doors of the wardrobe sliding apart and the book Hermione had been reading fanning its pages open. They tried some more sophisticated Unlocking Spells, without success unless one counted the glass stopper flying out of the water carafe on the nightstand.

"All right," Hermione said, "Enough is enough. I want you out of here, and if I have to blast the effing door off its hinges. Stand back." She shoved Lucius roughly with her elbow; she caught him unawares, and he almost lost his balance.

"I don't think this is wise," he ventured, rubbing his ribcage where he could feel a bruise coming up.

"I don't fucking care if it's wise or not, I want you out of here. _Reducto_!"

Lucius instinctively covered his face with his arms and ducked. When nothing happened, he slowly raised his head.

"Don't!" Hermione said in a small, squeaky voice. "Stay as you are – don't look, I said!"

He lowered his arms, half-curious, half-worried and was promptly overcome by a fit of laughter. A very naked Hermione was standing in what looked like a miniature snowdrift – the fluffy white bathrobe had been pulverized by the spell that had ricocheted off the door. Once he'd started to laugh, he couldn't stop; all the tension was rushing out of him like water breaking through a dam. In the end he just sat down on the floor, shoulders shaking with mirth, and wiped tears off his cheek.

Hermione had Summoned a towel in the meantime and was already chastely wrapped up, when he finally gathered enough strength to look up at her. "So that was funny, huh?" she said, tapping her wand against her thigh.

"It's the funniest thing I've seen since I cut Wisteria Black's corset laces with a letter opener."

Momentarily puzzled, Hermione shook her head. "You did what?"

"It was a long time ago, and is not really germane to our current predicament. Which" – he picked himself up off the floor and straightened his trousers – "would be best described by saying that we're locked in here together."

"If we're locked in, somebody must have locked us in. And if they did, they can let us out again." She strode over to the window. "We're only on the first floor – I can levitate you out the window and down." She turned and made an impatient motion with her hand. "Well come on, what are you waiting for?"

Lucius cleared his throat. "There might be the, erm, small matter, of the window being, well, closed."

"Nonsense, the window is – oh," she said. "It seems we're re-enacting Sleeping Beauty."

"I beg your pardon?"

She rolled her eyes. "Muggle fairy tale – beautiful princess cursed by evil fairy to sleep for a hundred years in her castle, which was completely overgrown with thorns. So I guess the roses and ivy are a distinct improvement. Lucius? Are you listening?"

"How interesting," he breathed and approached the window. The moment he held out his hand, a tendril separated itself from the layer of branches and leaves and wriggled towards his fingers. He pulled back just in time.

"Erm, Lucius? Would you care to tell me what's going on?"

"I have never seen anything like it," Lucius said, "but I daresay the house has decided to keep the two of us in this room."

"Oh." Obviously intrigued, Hermione imitated his actions but wasn't fast enough. "Ouch." She sucked her forefinger, and Lucius quickly averted his eyes. He was pretty sure that the Manor didn't want them to shag like Nifflers on Amortentia, so he'd better be careful. "It couldn't be the House Elves playing some kind of trick on us, could it?"

"I think not. They do have some sort of connection with the house, but I doubt they could actively get it to do things like locking doors and twisting our magic."

"You mean – of course. If that _Reducto_ hadn't been tweaked somehow, you'd have to scrape me off the walls now." She shuddered slightly. "So I guess I'd better drink that tea. Is this by any chance a Headache Potion?" Lucius nodded, smiling. "That's very thoughtful of you." She downed the potion in one go and washed it down with tea. "What do you think the house wants us to do?"

"I have no idea, honestly." Lucius sat down heavily in the armchair he'd occupied before. "I would be grateful, though, if you exchanged this towel for something else. It's a bit distracting."

Hermione merely smirked at him, but went off to the bathroom without further argument; the negligee she was wearing when she emerged a couple of minutes later wasn't much less distracting than the towel. Then again, Lucius mused, she could be wearing heavy-duty gardening attire, and still arouse him beyond reason.

"I'd kill for some coffee," she said, letting herself fall into the armchair facing his. "You don't think that maybe the elves can come and go, even if we can't?"

"It's certainly worth a try." He called for Cissy, and the elf promptly materialized at his feet. It looked terrified.

"I swears, Master!" Cissy squealed, "I swears I has nothing to do with it, and the others doesn't either! I swears!"

"I know, Cissy, I know." He sighed. "It's the house's doing, isn't it?"

Cissy's expression changed from fear to something very like sternness. "I isn't talking about that, Master. Even if Master gives us all clothes."

Alarmed, Hermione leaned forward to pat the creature's skinny shoulder. "Lucius isn't going to give you clothes. But it would be nice," she continued after receiving a tiny nod of approval from her host, "if you could bring us some coffee."

Brightening up immediately, Cissy gave them a toothy grin and nodded. "Of course, Miss Hermione. Does Master want some coffee, too?"

"Why not. And send the chocolate cake as well – we could both do with some fortification."

When their required mini-breakfast had arrived, the coffee been poured and some chocolate cake been partaken of, Lucius decided that it was time to get to business.

Well, maybe he ought to have a second slice of cake first… He was still trying to determine the best way to go about a discussion which he knew wouldn't be easy, even though both of them were full of chocolate cake, so the mood seemed to have mellowed considerably, when Hermione interrupted his thoughts.

"You know," she said, "I don't think I've ever read anything about the intrinsic magic of ancient wizarding homes. We definitely ought to research that – just consider how different this house feels than, for example, Grimmauld Place. I must admit I haven't been giving it much thought so far, but now that I think about it – I've never slept as well as when I was staying here with…" She fell silent.

Tempted to nudge the conversation back towards the topic of research, Lucius nevertheless decided that he'd better tackle the subject she'd brought up, if unwittingly. Not that he didn't enjoy her company, but he preferred that his own house didn't have a hand in it, for lack of a better word.

He briefly contemplated his cup of coffee. "The wedding will take place the day after tomorrow."

"I know!" she snapped.

Without looking at her, Lucius continued, "And you're obviously going to take it lying down – how very unlike you, Hermione."

"There's nothing I can do about it," she said curtly. "What's the matter with you, anyway? Are you on some kind of masochist trip? How very unlike _you_!"

"My answer is the same as yours: there's nothing I can do about it – but unlike you, I'm right. While you could dispose of Narcissa in a hundred possible, if mostly illegal, ways, there is no way I could stop you from loving Severus. Or him you."

"Lucius…"

"It's true, though, isn't it?" He hoped that the smile he gave her didn't look too much like a grimace. It certainly felt like one.

"He hurt me, Lucius. He hurt me so badly I wanted to hex him to the end of the world and keep him there with a Permanent Sticking Hex. He's the one who would have to make the first step, not I."

"That is an extremely immature, not to say childish attitude, if I may say so."

"You think I want him to crawl back to me, so I can watch him humiliate himself?"

"It does sound as if you did, yes."

Hermione brandished her fork at him. "You really don't know me, Lucius!"

The arrow had hit home, but he swallowed his rising anger. "It seems that I don't. So why don't you explain it to me?"

"I'm sure you've figured it out already. But" – she cut another slice of cake for both of them – "since we're here and have nothing better to do, I'm going to humour you. It's simple, really. If I went to him now and told him not to marry Narcissa, because he doesn't love her but me, and I love him – do you know what would happen, as past experience has taught me?"

"This is a rhetorical question, I suppose?"

Her wand was out in the blink of an eye, and his cake had been turned into a large, very dead fish before he could even draw. "Next time," she purred, Transfiguring it back to its original shape while Lucius was still gaping, "it's going to be a cowpat. A large, runny one. Just so you know."

"Erm." Lucius sniffed his plate and put it down with a moue of disgust. The ichthyic visitor had been rather past its best-before date. "Still sparring with the Saviours of the wizarding world, are you? I must say you are commendably quick on the draw."

She gave him the first genuine smile since her arrival, and his heart did a somersault.

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

Lucius's mouth became a thin line. "Unfortunately I have reason to doubt that."

Their eyes met, and she bit her lip. "Lucius, I… I'm sorry. You're right, I was using you, and trying to do it again last night."

"You very nearly succeeded, my dear." He chuckled, not without bitterness.

Hermione bowed her head. "While Severus and I were together, you…"

"Let's not go there. But yes. It is, to quote one of my favourite villains, beyond my control." *

"I wouldn't say Valmont is a villain, but that's neither here nor there." She sighed. "I wish I knew what to do, Lucius. I honestly do. I love Severus, but I'd be lying if I said that I'm anywhere near indifferent where you are concerned… The one thing I'm sure about is that, the moment Severus says 'I do', our door, too, will probably close forever. You'd never get over your doubts about being used, and I'd always be aware of them, and resent you for them, and your and Severus' friendship most likely wouldn't survive, either."

"We could kill Narcissa and dispose of the body, you know," Lucius remarked conversationally.

"I'm afraid you're more serious about that than I care to think about. But fortunately you're way too clever to actually consider that an option."

"_Un_fortunately, you mean," he countered crossly. "One fact, however, has become almost painfully clear by now: this wedding must not happen – not that I wouldn't have tried to prevent it in any case, but considering… You're right about the consequences, and I daresay neither of us would like having to live with them."

She diligently scraped the last of the chocolate cream off her plate, thus avoiding his eyes. "I don't want it to happen, either, but let's assume for a moment that it actually doesn't. What then?"

"Assuming" – Lucius pensively stirred half a spoon of sugar into his coffee – "that the wedding does, indeed, not take place, and you and Severus get back together, I suppose we might try and return to the way things were before you broke up."

"Bullshit. I know you have feelings for me, and if Severus didn't realize it before – which, by the way, I strongly doubt – he's certainly going to realize it then. He's difficult enough as it is, and that's putting it mildly. If he has so much as a suspicion of what's going on between the two of us, he'll either kill us, or leave. And frankly, none of the two options looks desirable." She cut off a third, very thin slice of cake. "And before you even continue on the path of noble martyrdom you've obviously chosen for yourself: no, breaking off any and all contact with you isn't an option, and that's final. Besides, it would only lead him to suspect, etcetera, etcetera. As I said, not an option."

Lucius rose abruptly and walked over to the window, careful to stay out of reach of the thorns, which were rustling ominously. "I refuse to accept that there is such a thing as an insurmountable obstacle."

"Because you're a Malfoy, and Malfoys don't do insurmountable."

"Oh, we do, but only if we are the obstacle." He smirked at her over his shoulder, then turned back to face the window. "But that's only part of it. I have…" He went over to kneel next to Hermione's chair. "Hermione, I know I can never atone for my past errors. But I refuse to put myself on the path of unhappiness, especially if my unhappiness doesn't contribute to the happiness of people I care for. If there was a way…" He laid his cheek on Hermione's hand.

Hermione bent down to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Maybe," she said hoarsely, "the best solution would be for me to leave the country, go to, oh I don't know, China or Argentina."

"You think Severus or I could be happy without you in our lives?"

"Oh, I think you could. There's no chance, is there, that the two of you might discover you're gay, and fall madly in love with each other? That would be perfect."

Lucius snorted. "I should think not. Not that we haven't ever…"

Hermione cocked her head. "Done what? Snogged?"

"Not exactly, no. Or rather, not the two of us alone. There have been two or three, erm, instances of, well, sharing though…"

"Sharing? What-" Her eyes went wide. "Oh," she breathed. "Oh wicked, wicked boys – you had threesomes? With a woman? Good heavens!" She shifted in her chair. "Shit, that really…"

"Turns you on?" Lucius lifted his head and smiled at her. He wasn't the only one to lift his head, but he sternly told that part of his anatomy to stay down, or he'd cast a Deflating Charm. Nothing permanent of course, not now when things were finally beginning to look… erm, up. "Because if it does" – his hand crept under the hem of her nightgown and up between her legs – "I think we might have found our solution."

"Yes… Oh my god," she moaned, as his hand travelled further up. "Lucius, don't you think I'd better talk to Severus first, see how he reacts? Because if he doesn't like the idea…"

"Oh, I think he will." Inserting his other hand into the glorious riot of curls, he pulled her down for a kiss. "There will have to be persuading and cajoling and lots of ego-stroking…"

"Oh, I'll stroke his ego all right," Hermione panted between kisses.

"What about my ego then?"

"The one that's currently poking my left knee?"

They hadn't heard the inaudible click of the door unsealing itself. Immersed as they were in their kissing, the change of light as the tendrils of rose and ivy slowly retired had not been perceived by either of them.

Hermione bit Lucius' earlobe. "Seeing you on your knees gives me all kinds of naughty ideas, you know."

"If the lady were to hook _her_ knees over the armrests, I promise that I'll put the position to even better use."

"Ooh, clever." She gave him one last kiss and let go of his shoulders, the better to change position. Then she froze.

"Oh bugger," Lucius muttered. Then, louder, "Severus, I can explain-"

"Are you going to be my new grandmother?"

Lucius slowly turned, careful to keep the front side of his lower body out of sight of his grandson. "What in the seven hells," he began.

"Scorpius," Hermione chirped, a brittle edge to her unnaturally cheery tone of voice, "how nice to see you!" She crossed her legs, almost breaking Lucius' wrist in the process but allowing him to retrieve his hand unseen.

"I'm… I'm sorry," the boy stammered. "I meant to go to Neville's room – are you okay, Hermione? You're a bit red in the face. Granddad, I'm sorry, honestly!"

Shoulders slumping, Lucius took a deep breath. "It's all right, Scorpius." With a mischievous glance at Hermione, he licked the tip of his left middle finger, taking inordinate pleasure in her shocked yelp. "An honest mistake." He had to cast that Deflating Charm after all, before he got to his feet.

"Did you just ask Hermione to marry you?" asked Scorpius, whose usual ebullient mood had won the upper hand over his mortification rather quickly. "Because you were on your knees, and…"

"As a matter of fact, I was examining her knee – she'd slipped in the bathtub and sent Cissy to get me," Lucius said. "So, what did you want to see Mr Longbottom for?"

"He promised last night that he'd play Quidditch with me, and I wanted to ask him if he was ready. You could come and play, too, Granddad."

"That," Lucius said, "is an excellent idea. "Hermione" – he turned and winked at her – "has got some important business to see to, so I'd better leave her to it." He sketched a still-flustered Hermione a bow. "If you'll excuse me. In case you need me, just send Cissy."

"Thanks, I guess," she said faintly.

oooo

*Lucius is alluding to Choderlos de Laclos' epistolary novel „Les Liaisons Dangereuses" ( wiki/Les_Liaisons_dangereuses) – in the famous film adaptation starring John Malkovic and Glenn Close, the Vicomte de Valmont (Malkovic) utters these famous words; in the book Merteuil suggests he ought to use them in a letter to the woman he has seduced and whom she wants him to abandon in as cruel a fashion as possible, telling her that having fallen out of love with her is beyond his control (original: "Ce n'est pas ma faute")

Valmont is, in Hermione's and the author's opinion, not the villain of the story; the real villain is the Marquise de Merteuil, who out-plots Valmont. In the end, he's more of a victim, both of Merteuil and his own, less successful attempts at plotting. It's not overly surprising that Lucius should feel a certain affinity to the character.


	8. Chapter 8

"What the-" Severus stopped just in time before colliding with a wall. Puzzled, he looked back over his shoulder. Yes, he'd indeed been walking from the breakfast room straight to the library, and he knew that there wasn't a wall closing off this corridor. Correction, there was a wall, but there had never been one before.

Scowling, he retraced his steps towards the breakfast room – not that he was going to enter, not if five fire-breathing Norwegian Ridgebacks were chasing him.

After Longbottom had displayed hitherto-unknown powers of persuasion and made him admit that his heart wasn't set on marrying Narcissa, Severus had fled to the breakfast room to treat himself to some tea and chocolate cake, so as to mull over things in peace. Not only had the cake suddenly disappeared – the lemon tart had turned out to be even better, though – but he hadn't been able to enjoy his much-craved solitude for more than maybe fifteen minutes. Draco and Astoria had intruded upon his gloomy contemplations and immediately started to nag him about the wedding: did he know what he was doing, did he really think it was a good idea, and so on, and so on, and so on. He'd allowed the pair of them to yap at him for as long as it took him to finish his repast in dignified leisure and put together a cutting invective involving broomsticks, body parts and Voldemort, which he had then delivered with his customary aplomb and slammed the door on his way out in a most satisfying manner.

He wanted nothing more than to retire to the library, have the House Elves bring him a pot of tea and a slice of chocolate cake, dammit, and wallow in his misery. And now the house had obviously got it into its head, wherever that was, to continue playing tricks on him.

Voices and the scraping of chairs from the breakfast room caused him to turn tail in a less than stately fashion and embark on another attempt to reach the library.

This time there was no wall. He found the library all right, closed the door behind him with a sigh of profound relief and strode over to the sofa in front of the fireplace.

His footsteps resounding on the wooden floor made it impossible for him to hear the sound of the doors sealing themselves shut.

He shed his robes, rolled up his shirtsleeves and Banished the sofa cushions into a remote corner with a contemptuous snarl. He'd already sat down and put his feet on the low table, when it occurred to him that one of the cushions had uttered a squeak. Severus shrugged – probably Narcissa's Pygmy Puff Melville had made another break for freedom. Severus sympathized and fervently hoped his own attempts at self-liberation were going to be more successful.

He called Cissy – what a simple and yet brilliant idea Lucius had had in naming the elf – and told her to bring chocolate cake and tea.

"Very good, Master Severus. Will Miss Hermione want chocolate cake again? And tea?"

"How the fuck should I know?" He tried to glare the elf into submission, with barely any success.

"Thanks Cissy, just tea will do nicely."

Severus whirled round. "What the-" She was wearing light summer robes, something gauzy and many-layered that played havoc with his libido, as did her hair, which was loosely plaited, tendrils escaping and just begging to be tucked behind those plump, edible earlobes.

"I was looking up something when you started bombarding me with cushions," she said and rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek before he could retreat to safety. "Hello Severus."

Her perfume, the feel of her lips against his skin, the fabric of her robes brushing his arm… He'd been missing her so dreadfully. "I would thank you not to assault me in this fashion," he snapped, taking a step back.

"Would you rather I assaulted you in some other fashion?" she asked cheerfully.

He flinched when she drew her wand, but it was only to Summon some of the cushions he'd Banished. She'd seen it, though, and smirked at him over her shoulder, while she arranged the cushions and sat down.

"I would like to point out," he snarled, "that I meant to sit on this sofa."

Hermione patted the seat. "So do. It's big enough for at least three people."

Which was the truth, but Severus didn't want to sit anywhere close to her, not with her breasts and thighs tantalizingly outlined by those accursed robes. In the end he chose dignity over childish bickering and sat stiffly, but as far away from her as humanly possible. "I meant to have some peace and quiet," he huffed.

"Oh, good. Me too – I'll just Summon the book I was reading and leave you in peace." A slim tome flew to her from the corner where most of the cushions were still on the floor in an untidy heap.

Tea and cake – finally! – materialized on the table. Severus closed his eyes and inhaled a blissful lungful of… lotus flower and green tea. Damn and bugger. "I think I'd rather retire to my room."

Hermione gave him a fleeting smile. "Okay, if that's what you want to do."

Gods, how he wanted just to stay here, on the sofa, sharing tea and cake with her, scooting closer and closer, and then take her into his arms, feel that soft, pliable body lean into his, and kiss her…

"I most certainly do."

Just a dozen steps, and a solid door would be between him and this temptation, this terrible, hollow longing.

He turned the door handle. "Bugger me sideways with a splintery broomstick, not fucking _again_!"

"It's the house, you know," Hermione said.

Severus whirled round to face her. "I _know_ it's the fucking house! It already locked me in with Longbottom of all people! _Bugger_!"

"It does seem to have some kind of agenda, yes." She leaned back in the cushions, and his mouth went dry at the lascivious smile she gave him. "It shut me in together with Lucius, you know. In my room."

"I don't give a monkey's who it – with _Lucius_? In your _room_?"

"You heard me," she said coolly and opened her book. When he'd been looming over her, Potions-class-fashion, for more than fifteen seconds (he counted) she finally looked up. "Anything the matter?"

"Since the house obviously has some kind of agenda, which causes it to keep people together in rooms until they've solved certain problems-"

"That's not quite what it is," Hermione interrupted him calmly. "If my theory is correct, and I'm sure it is – there's no need for histrionic snorting, Severus. As I said, I think the house wants us to do something else: it means for certain people – or maybe for all of us, I'm not sure about Narcissa, Draco and Astoria-"

"Would you mind coming to whichever point you seem to be trying to make?"

"My, aren't we snarky today."

Now her smile was definitely impish, making her cheeks dimple. If she continued like this, he'd be down on his knees and kissing her feet in no time. Severus returned to his buttock-pinching, uncomfortable spot on the outermost corner of the sofa.

"I think," she continued, "That the house wants us to be honest with ourselves about what we really, truly desire."

"And what could the Iron Maiden and the popinjay possibly have in common?" he said rudely, to mask his anxiety – Lucius and Hermione? He'd had an inkling that there was a bit more than just friendly feelings on Lucius' side, but…

"Oh, that's for me to know and you to find out. What about you and Neville, then? I can't say that I see much common ground there, either."

"None of your business," he snapped.

"You're aware, aren't you, that the house is going to keep us here till doomsday, unless we make some progress?" He merely grunted. "You might miss your wedding," she added sweetly.

"It's my bloody wedding, so kindly keep your thoughts to yourself."

"Interesting – I thought it was Narcissa's wedding, too."

"Of course it – look, could we just stop this? I don't want to talk about it, all right?"

"Absolutely. I'm not the one who's going to miss her own wedding, so I couldn't care less."

Hands opening and closing convulsively, he turned to face her. "Hermione, I swear, if you utter the word 'wedding' one more time, I'll strangle you, and the consequences be damned!"

"You could have the wedding in Azkaban, I guess, even though that would be-"

He pounced, but somehow his hands found their way into her hair, and his lips were magnetically drawn to hers, and oh, how he'd missed kissing her! How his body had missed the feel of her hands clutching his shoulders, her breasts pressing into his chest, her leg sliding up and around his hips. He felt exhilarated and drunk, and entirely unable to let go of her.

Then she gently shoved him away, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and let her hand rest for a moment on his cheek. "Not like this," she said. "I'm sorry, and believe me, I want nothing more than to fuck you to unconsciousness and back right now, but first I need to know what's going to happen afterwards."

"Hermione, please…" Merlin, he was sounding like a whiny teenager.

"Don't make it more difficult than it already is, Severus."

A terrible thought reared its ugly head and refused to go away. "You've already got yourself a backup, have you? That's why Lucius…" He swallowed. "Otherwise you would never reject me."

"I wouldn't refuse to have sex with you two days before your wedding, unless Lucius was already warming my bed?" She shook her head, and more curly strands sprang free from her plait. "That's one of the most irrational things you've ever said to me, Severus. Merely to avoid any misunderstandings, I refuse to have sex with you, here and now, because I can't bear the thought of giving you just enough to go on, so you can get married to Narcissa. More to the point, I'm not going to let you use me as fuel for your relationship with her. Not now, and not after the wedding. It's not a moral thing. It's just that I can't be your emotional crutch."

A headache was coming on, Severus could feel it. A fairly massive one, too. In an attempt to stave it off, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you want me to choose."

"That's pretty obvious, isn't it? Or can you honestly say that you could be married to her and have me as your mistress? Would _you_ want that?"

"You know I wouldn't want that!"

"So it comes down to a decision."

"What about you and Lucius, then? What if I decide that I want you, only to find him in your bed, metaphorically speaking?"

"I would suggest that you join us, quite simply and not at all metaphorically."

"And how is that morally superior to me sleeping with you whilst married to Narcissa?"

"I already told you that my reservations aren't of a moral nature. If they were, I wouldn't be suggesting a _ménage à trois_."

"Oh come now! You weren't suggesting it, you were merely trying to get my hackles… Uh, _were_ you suggesting it?"

Hermione shrugged, smiled and went back to her book.

"Look at me, for fuck's sake!"

Hermione drew her wand, duplicated his plate and fork, cut a slice off the chocolate cake and started to eat it with apparent relish.

"Answer me, woman. This instant!"

Hermione scooped up some chocolate cream. Her tongue curled around the glistening brown dollop. With a contented "Mmmmh!" she swallowed and gave him a pointed look, licking the last traces of chocolate off the fork.

He was jealous of a piece of cutlery – could he possibly sink any lower? "Let's be rational here, Her-"

"Oh yes, let's!"

"And I'll thank you not to interrupt me. If I told Narcissa that the wedding's off, and I'm speaking purely hypothetically here…"

"Of course," Hermione said. "Shacking up together with Lucius was purely hypothetical, too." She winked at him.

"If I may continue" – he was rather desperately groping for some shreds of his dignity – "and finish what I was going to say. If, I repeat, I told Narcissa that the wedding's off, how do you propose that we go on afterwards? Provided I survive that conversation," he added glumly.

"Hm. You're thinking about it the wrong way – before you tell Narcissa, I suggest that matters between us, that is you, me and Lucius, be settled as far as possible. By which I mean," she continued, lifting her hand to prevent him interrupting her, "that you'll have to tell me clearly and unequivocally, as opposed to hypothetically, that you want me and not her. Secondly, you'll have to make your decision regarding Lucius – I'd better tell you, I suppose, that I slept with him once, after we broke up."

"You… I should've known. You had it all planned out, didn't you? Probably with colour-coded timetables – Monday: get rid of Severus, Tuesday-"

"_Petrificus_ _Totalis_! _Incarcerus_!"

Oh, she was magnificent when she was angry. He'd forgotten how fast she was with that wand, though. All that duelling practice with Potter the Wonderbrat and his ginger sidekick had yielded very impressive results – he was lucky, he guessed, that she'd only Petrified and bound him. And now she was standing close to him, furious and hot, smelling of chocolate and lotus, and he couldn't move his hands.

"Very well." Hermione took a deep breath. "This is not going the way I meant it to. I thought we could have something at least remotely like a reasonable discussion, but obviously I was wrong. So I'm going to be the one who makes the first step because you, Severus Snape, are obviously determined to be as stubborn and difficult as you possibly can. So now you'll have to listen to what I have to say, and then I'm going to release you. And then" – she put her wand back into her sleeve – "you're going to make your decision. I'm warning you, though: this choice is the ultimate one, and I'm not going to give you another chance. If you tell me you don't want a relationship with me, I'll regard that as final – no buts, no sorrys, no going back. Is that clear?"

She sat back down and poured herself another cup of tea. "So here goes. I love you, Severus. I love you with all my heart and my body and mind. When I entered your shop for the first time, I merely meant to talk to you, for the first time after so many years. It had been so long… I just wanted to see how you were doing and to thank you for all you had done. I intended to apologize for letting Harry and Ron persuade me to leave you for dead in the Shrieking Shack. But when I actually laid eyes on you…" She smiled at him, and he was glad to be Petrified; otherwise he wasn't sure whether he would've been able to hold back the tears. "I _saw_ you, really saw you, for the first time.

"It was love at first sight. You looked so much the same, and yet so different. You looked… free, I suppose, and as if you'd finally let go of the past. Relaxed, and at your ease. I'd been so worried how you'd react to me – to be honest, I'd expected you to kick me out after throwing some terrible insult at me, not that I wouldn't have deserved it.

"So I was fairly shocked when you didn't. Shocked in a good way. And completely, utterly smitten. It took me six months of regular visits until I worked up the courage to ask you over for tea – at that point I was pretty sure you were interested, and so I decided I'd just do it. I'm sure you remember that afternoon, and although we never discussed my previous visits, I'm also certain that you knew them for what they were.

"I know I'm repeating ancient history here, but we never actually talked about it, as in: why did things go the way they went, and at which point did they start to go wrong. Maybe I also ought to mention that I've never doubted, not for an instant, that you love me. What I'm not so sure about is whether you want a close and permanent relationship, with me, that is. Obviously you had no problem agreeing to have one with Narcissa, after only half a year of being together. But I'll admit that I know too little about what's been going on between the two of you, so I won't start comparing or arguing.

"What I know for certain is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. By now, I've also come to understand that I'd be heartbroken if that turned out to be impossible, but that I would survive. And therefore, much though I love and understand you, I'm not going to accept certain patterns of behaviour anymore, because I think that it's those patterns, and my acceptance of them, that led to the break-up.

"You've never told me as much, but I daresay I know you sufficiently well to know that you want, or maybe need, me to prove that I love you, over and over again. It's not enough if I say it, it's not enough if I show you. You want more. Whenever you feel you have reason to doubt my love for you, you push me away, and only if I swallow the hurt and humiliation and make the first step towards you, will you believe that my love is real.

"But, on the other hand, you're afraid of letting me come too close, because then you would have to open up – you've been rejected once, admittedly in a cruel way which hurt you a lot, and you're still afraid of being rejected again. The closer you allow me to be to you, the more vulnerable you make yourself, and rejection, if it happens, is going to hurt more. And there we are, in the vicious circle that ultimately led to the break-up. Unless you understand that, nothing will change. You'll have to trust me as I trust you, you'll have to make yourself accessible and vulnerable, just as I did. Unless you're ready to do that, you may just as well marry Narcissa, or not marry her, but there can't be a relationship with me."

She emptied her cup of tea in one gulp.

"And now to Lucius: I told you that I slept with him once after we'd broken up. I shouldn't have, because I was aware that his feelings were more than just friendly. But I needed someone to hold me and worship me, and it had to be someone I knew and trusted. So he was the obvious choice. I'm not proud of how I treated him afterwards.

"Yesterday, I realized two things: firstly, that I've been missing him a lot, and secondly, that whichever way things are going to play out, I'm going to lose – either both of you, if you go through with the wedding and Lucius feels I'm only using him as a replacement, or Lucius, if you choose me; and I'm afraid the two of you would have a hard time saving your friendship as well. This means that, unless I'm prepared to leave the country and never see the two of you again, which by the way I'm not, and if you decide you want a relationship with me, we'll have to include Lucius somehow. I'm not going to deny that I like him and am attracted to him – otherwise I'd hardly consider making him part of our life together.

"I'm not saying that it'll be perfect, but in my opinion the three of us stand a fair chance of building a relationship together, especially with Lucius there to balance out both our tempers."

Hermione drew her wand and stood.

"I've said everything I meant to say; now it's up to you. Don't feel pressured – I'm not asking you to decide here and now. Go and think about it. Talk to Lucius, talk to me, but for Merlin's sake try to come to a decision before seven p.m. on Saturday. _Finite Incantatem_!"

She let herself fall back on the sofa, looking utterly wrung-out. Not trusting his voice quite yet, Severus merely embraced her and kissed her forehead.

The library was so silent that they could hear the locks clicking as the doors unsealed themselves.

He took both her hands in his and kissed them in turn. Hermione's eyes were brimming with tears; she flung her arms around him and squeezed so hard that he couldn't breathe. He'd never felt less desire to breathe.

He had a lot of thinking to do, though, and he had to talk to Lucius – whether to give him the opportunity to utter famous (and no doubt witty) last words before he killed him, or to thank the twisty bastard on his knees, he wasn't quite sure yet. And he had to talk to Narcissa.

Hoping that the smile he gave Hermione was sufficiently reassuring, he walked out of the library and up to his room.

oooo


	9. Chapter 9

Deep in thought, Neville climbed the stairs to the first floor.

After Severus had beaten a strategic retreat, he'd stayed in the beguilingly cool, north-facing room – the Manor seemed to have made an extra effort, for he'd felt more relaxed and at peace with himself than he'd done in a long time. And that was saying something; despite the serene and easy-going facade he showed the world, he did, as a matter of fact, carry his own heavy burden. There were days when it crushed the cheerfulness out of his heart, and Neville sometimes wondered why nobody ever thought to ask him how he was.

Not that he would've expected it from Snape, but it would have been nice if Hermione... To be fair, though, the poor woman was a wreck, more even than he was, and that, too, was saying something.

At least is own problem was a little more straightforward.

He'd been in love with Luna for years; from the moment she'd stepped into the Hog's Head and flung herself into his arms more than ten years ago, to be precise. He'd meant to tell her about his feelings, but somehow she'd had so much on her plate – dealing with her father, managing _The Quibbler_, coming to terms with her own war traumata – that the time was never quite right. They'd gone out a few times, and then he'd started training with Professor Sprout; a year after the war, at the beginning of the summer holidays, he'd finally felt ready to declare his love, but she'd already gone off to whereabouts unknown. Five years later, Xenophilius Lovegood had retired, and Luna had come home – with a boyfriend in tow.

He'd started travelling then, without much conviction at first, and roamed the continents. Every time he clutched the Portkey taking him back to England, he'd hoped against hope that Luna and Rolf might have broken up, but their relationship only seemed to grow more stable. He wished to see Luna happy, of course he did, but there was a place deep inside him – a place that he wasn't overly proud of – that wished she'd be happy with him instead of Rolf Scamander.

In the summer-scented stillness of the salon he'd felt compelled to revisit every meeting, every conversation he'd ever had with Luna since that fateful encounter ten years ago, and come to the conclusion that his love for her had somehow faded. What he'd mistaken for love – the realization had overwhelmed him so suddenly and with such bright certainty that he couldn't quite believe it at first – was his fear that he might never again fall in love as completely as he had with Luna, and the subsequent need somehow to conserve the feeling like a fragile treasure in the shrine of his heart.

It was time to leave this cult, which had become pointless and empty, behind him and open himself up to the possibilities out there.

He had agreed to help Luna, so he'd stay at Malfoy Manor till the bitter end – or maybe it was going to be sweet, depending on whether Snape could finally bring himself to accept Hermione's love – and then he'd face the world with an open heart and mind, and start searching for the love of his life.

Neville rounded the last corner, smiling to himself.

Something barrelled into him and almost knocked him to the ground.

"Here you are!" Scorpius said brightly. "I've been looking for you for ages – we wanted to play Quidditch, remember? Granddad is already on his broomstick, but I told him I was going to go back and get you, if I could find you. I meant to ask Dad, but he had to go to London, and Uncle Severus doesn't want to be disturbed... You will play, won't you?"

Playing Quidditch against Lucius Malfoy wasn't high on Neville's list of priorities – the man used to have a rather sinister reputation as Slytherin Beater and was as fit as a fiddle. Still, a promise was a promise.

"Give me ten minutes to change, and I'll join you."

Scorpius danced a little jig and ran off.

He didn't even possess Quidditch attire, but whenever he let himself be cajoled into playing by Harry, Ron or one of the Weasley brothers, Neville simply wore Muggle jeans and a t-shirt; the only important characteristic of whatever you wore for Quidditch was, after all, that there shouldn't be any fluttery parts, which the wind might blow into your face, and that the clothes ought to allow a maximum of freedom of movement. He brushed his hair back and fixed it with a leather thong, which he reinforced with a simple spell, put on a pair of dragon-hide boots and left his room in search of the Quidditch-mad Malfoy males.

Already crossing the entrance hall, he heard the sound of light footsteps descending the stairs and turned round. His heart stopped for a moment, and it took him a few seconds to recognize the beautiful blonde clad in jodhpurs and riding boots as Narcissa.

Oh no, he thought, when his heart started beating again, the fast, erratic rhythm making it hard to breathe. Oh no, not another unattainable, fragile blonde with icy blue eyes. Anyone, please Cupid, Amor and all deities, anyone but a woman who didn't even have a look to spare for him...

"Mr Longbottom," Narcissa said, smiling and extending her hand. Feeling a bit like a well-trained dog, he bent to kiss the fragrant skin. "You are on your way out, I suppose?"

Breathe, Neville. Smile, breathe and, for Merlin's sake, _don't_ stammer! "As a matter of fact I was," he said, cursing himself for blushing – he had to be looking ridiculous, to judge by the heat he could feel spreading all over his face. "But please do call me Neville, I'd be honoured."

"Neville, then," she said and took his arm, falling into step with him. "So, has Lucius convinced you that playing Quidditch with him and Scorpius would be a good idea? Oh, and please do call me Narcissa – I understand that you and Draco have become quite good friends, and you did so much to help him after the war. I do hope you will accept my belated thanks." She squeezed his arm.

"Draco is a decent guy... Narcissa," Neville replied when his treacherous lungs had started working again. "I'm a bit worried, though – I'm not what you'd call an accomplished Quidditch player. Mr Malfoy will, erm, adapt his play to my skills, no doubt?"

"That'd be a first," Narcissa said with a wicked smile. "You must know, Neville, that Lucius loves to win, never mind if he's playing against a blind, Petrified slug."

Neville swallowed. "That doesn't sound too encouraging. I promised Scorpius, though..."

"In that case, you'll have to play, I'm afraid." She patted his hand. "But don't worry, the family physician enjoys an excellent reputation."

"You do know how to make a bloke feel confident," Neville muttered, fighting visions of cranial trauma and mutilation. Then a few synapses fired in his brain, and his subconscious released a memory. He stopped and turned to face Narcissa. "Draco told me that you're an excellent player yourself – you're dressed for riding, but it's the perfect outfit for Quidditch. Why don't the two of us form a team – I may be a man, but I'm sort of fond of the idea of all my limbs being attached to my body. So I quite like the idea of you, well, protecting me by pointing out Lucius' weaknesses, provided he's got any."

The bubbling laughter and blush he got in response was more than he'd dared hope for. "Now that sounds like an excellent idea. Lucius does have a weak spot, you see. He's horribly old-fashioned and would never inflict bodily harm on a woman. If I acted as your shield, so to speak, we'd actually stand a chance."

They continued towards the copse of trees above which Lucius and Scorpius were already zooming back and forth.

Neville carefully moved his arm, so that his fingers touched Narcissa's. They were smooth, cool and impossibly soft, and when they intertwined themselves with his as if they belonged there, he barely withstood the urge to break into the Dwarfish War Yodel he'd learned in Norway. *

oooo

"Careful, Neville! Don't bump the stretcher against the banister!"

"It's all right, Narcissa, I've got him. Now you go ahead and knock on Snape's door..."

"Granddad? Granddad, please! Please don't die!"

The cacophony of voices out in the corridor stopped briefly, and then somebody knocked on Severus' door. He'd been about to open it – obviously there'd been an accident, and he just hoped that Scorpius was overdramatizing things, because he needed Lucius alive to talk to him.

Narcissa was standing on the threshold, face white as a sheet and blue eyes wide with shock. Behind her, Longbottom was floating a stretcher – Scorpius was clinging to it as if his life depended on it. Lucius didn't look too good.

"What happened?" Severus asked, motioning for them to come inside.

Once more, he had to acknowledge that Longbottom had, indeed, come a long way and matured into a competent wizard. "He fell off his broom – nothing's broken, but he landed on a nasty-looking tree stump. One of the splinters went almost all the way through his thigh. It took us a while to get to him – the underbrush is rather thick there – and so he'd already lost a lot of blood. My guess is that an artery was punctured. I closed and disinfected the wound, and we took him to you post haste. He needs Blood Replenisher. Oh, and he's also concussed, but no cranial fracture."

Severus nodded. "Leave him with me – I'll Floo the shop for the potions I need."

Neville carefully lowered the stretcher and stood next to Narcissa, watching as Severus levitated Lucius' body onto his bed. The two were holding hands, and Severus suddenly felt immensely relieved. He knelt down next to Scorpius, who was still clutching the stretcher, looking terrified. "Scorpius?" The boy swallowed and shook his head. "Scorpius, Lucius is going to be all right. I promise. But you must leave now, with Neville and Narcissa, and give me time to treat him. Do you understand?" A shudder ran through Scorpius, but he didn't react.

"_Somniferus_!" Neville stepped closer and lifted the sleeping child from Severus' arms. "Narcissa and I are going to look after him. He's had a nasty shock – I'll give him some calming potion, and we'll stay with him. Not a word to Draco and Astoria, understood? We'd never hear the end of it."

"Very well," Severus said. "And now leave – I've got to put some blood back into his noble ancestor."

An hour later, Lucius was sitting up against a snowy mountain of cushions, still looking a little peaky but definitely back among the living, allowing Cissy to spoon-feed him a strong consommé laced with old port. Severus, a sardonic smile on his lips, had pulled a chair up to the bed and was watching the proceedings. He was also sipping a glass of Lucius' best Burgundy, which had been dug out of the wine cellars for the Master's further restoration. Lucius was going to be allowed only a very small amount; it would be a shame to let the precious beverage go to waste.

"I think he's had enough, Cissy. Come back in an hour with another bowl."

The elf looked at her Master for confirmation, got a weak nod, and disappeared.

"I am very tired," Lucius announced. "I think I'll have a little nap."

"Blood Replenisher," Severus said, while topping up his glass, "happens to contain enough armadillo bile to make a healthy wizard of your age and weight run around in circles for a good twenty-four hours. So kindly quit this feeble attempt at bullshitting. We have to talk."

Lucius raised a trembling hand. "The concussion-"

"Nonsense," Severus cut him off. "The concussion is perfectly healed, and the Headache Potion has taken care of any residual pain you might be feeling. It contains armadillo bile, too, by the way."

"Does it indeed?"

"I assure you it does, as you know very well. Besides, may I draw your attention to the fact that I could've killed you twice over while treating you and even got away with it."

"Knowing you, you'd like me to be as strong as possible, so my death throes would give you longer-lasting pleasure."

"Don't be silly. Have a glass of this marvellous Burgundy – slowly though – and stop miming the invalid. I'd rather like to hear what the hell happened out there, before we switch to more, erm, sensitive topics."

Wincing, Lucius pulled the duvet a little further up. "I made a rather… well, there's no better word for it – I made a stupid mistake. Scorpius had spotted the Snitch and chased after it full tilt – I saw him slipping on his broomstick, so I went after him. It was an instinctive reaction; if I had stopped to think for one second, I would've remembered that the broomstick is charmed, so he can't fall off, and even if he did, the cushioning charms on his Quidditch outfit would prevent him from coming to any harm. I was very close to the treetops, and must've touched one of the higher ones with the tail end of my broom. The impact literally catapulted me off the broom, and I didn't have time to get to my wand. End of story."

"At least now I understand why Scorpius was in such a state. Don't worry" – he pushed Lucius back into the cushions – "Longbottom and Narcissa are with him. Which brings me to a very interesting topic indeed."

"So you noticed," Lucius remarked. He swirled the wine around the glass, examined the legs and took a first sip. "You don't seem to be overcome by a fit of jealousy – dare I hope you've finally come to your senses?"

"As far as Narcissa is concerned, all I feel is relief, not jealousy. But when it comes to Hermione... How could you take advantage of her, you unmitigated, lecherous bastard?"

"Is that what she told you?"

"Not in so many words, but I assumed-"

"Then maybe you would care to listen to what I'm going to tell you, instead of assuming?"

"We've got time, if nothing else. But I reserve the right to use Legilimency on you, should your tale sound too outlandish."

"And I reserve the right to Occlude my mind against any such attempt," Lucius snarled back, before he remembered that he was supposed to be weak. He made up for it by letting his eyelids flutter shut for a moment before opening them again with visible effort.

Severus merely raised a sardonic eyebrow and settled back into his chair.

"After you'd told me about the breakup," Lucius began, "and flounced off to drink yourself into oblivion at Spinner's End, I was naturally curious to hear her version of how things had come to such a head."

"Naturally," Severus echoed, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Yes, because we'd become friends, and I suspected that she wasn't the happiest of bunnies right then – what you'd told me about your last row gave me reason to think that she had to be quite devastated. I certainly didn't plan to seduce her, not if she was as vulnerable as I supposed she would be, anyway. A week went by, and I heard nothing. I Flooed Longbottom, McGonagall, Lovegood, even Ginevra Potter, but they all told me the same: since the breakup, they'd seen neither hide nor hair of Hermione – everybody was worried, but they were also a bit wary of her hexes, so nobody dared intrude on her."

"She's damnably quick on the draw when she's angry," Severus observed.

"Don't I know it. Still, I tried to contact her, with no success at all. The Floo was blocked, the owls came back, she'd called in sick at work… So I decided – that was about two weeks after she'd thrown you out – just to go to her place and insist that she talk to me."

Severus snorted. "Subtle, Lucius."

"I was really rather surprised," Lucius continued unperturbed, "when she not only opened the door but even bade me come in. It was a right mess – she, the place, everything. So I summoned Cissy, who had the flat back to human standard in no time, and then I ordered her – Cissy I mean – to put her in the bathtub, get her clean and dressed and take her to the Manor. I went home and ordered dinner for the two of us.

"She was a bit pissed-off when she arrived, but more because I'd practically blackmailed her into complying by giving her to understand that Cissy was going to suffer unless she brought her back cleaned-up and looking like a human being."

"Well, that was rather clever of you."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my wasted heart. Pour me another glass, will you?"

"Just half," Severus said.

"Merlin, you're such a maiden aunt! Thanks. Well, we sat down to dinner, and I didn't have much coaxing to do – she poured out her story after only two glasses of champagne. Did you really call her a Devil's Snare in human form?"

"I might have," Severus said, avoiding Lucius' eyes.

"Mmh. I'm not going to enquire after all the other horrible things you said to her, because even if only half of them are true, you behaved like an utter bastard. I know" – he raised his hand – "you understand that now. So I'll spare you further torture.

"Initially I thought that she was flirting with me because I'd seen her in such a state – I don't think there's a woman on earth who wouldn't try to compensate for such embarrassment by excessive flirting. So of course I played along, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. She was looking lovely; still tired and with shadows under her eyes, but that added a certain ethereal-"

"I think we can take the disgustingly romantic part of your narration as read."

"Good heavens, you're touchy. Very well – there isn't much more to tell. Her flirting became more pronounced as the dinner progressed, and instead of simply sending her home or up to a guest room, I was an utter fool and took what was offered. Let me assure you, however, that there was never a moment, even when she'd sobered up completely, of coming, as they say, to her senses. It was consensual from the first kiss to-"

"I get the gist, thank you very much."

Lucius twirled the stem of his wineglass between his thumb and forefinger. "And that," he said slowly, "was the last I'd seen of her before she Flooed me yesterday."

"What?" Severus stared at his friend, dumbfounded.

"You heard me. She completely broke off any contact and ignored or rejected every single of my attempts. At the time, it drove me crazy, but… well, things have changed."

"Ber-loody hell," Severus said, with feeling. "I still want to punch you for having fucked my girlfriend, but she certainly gave you a hard time."

"Firstly, she wasn't your girlfriend anymore, and secondly, what do you think I wanted to do to you after finding out what a shit you'd been to her? Besides, you fucked my ex-wife; she was more ex than Hermione, but you fucked her more often, so I consider us even."

"Even, huh?" Severus gave him a long, hard stare.

"Mmh, I daresay we are. Which brings me to the main question: we both love Hermione, and she doesn't seem adverse to a permanent arrangement _à trois_. I must say that I find the idea extremely attractive – what about you?"

"The idea is, as you say, very attractive. It's the practical, day-to-day issues that I find somewhat daunting. Where would we live, for a start?"

"Well, here of course. It's the logical solution, don't you think? Especially considering that the Manor apparently likes the idea as well – or doesn't it seem the least bit strange to you that people keep getting locked in together, but there hasn't been any outbreak of violence so far? Just look at the two of us – you're being nowhere as antagonistic as I would've expected you to be, and as for myself, I find that I'm being positively angelic."

"That's because you're really a Hufflepuff at heart," Severus remarked dryly.

"See? Even this highly offensive observation didn't make me hex you."

"You don't have your wand. Just saying."

Lucius gave an airy wave. "A mere trifle – stop being such a tedious bore, Severus. Back to the subject, though: we've shared in the past, but can we share Hermione?"

Severus sighed and poured himself another glass of wine. "Exhibit A: Hermione obviously wants to be shared. Exhibit B: much as it pains me to say so, we do both love her. Exhibit C: if we make her choose, we'll ruin everything and probably lose her. So what alternative do you think we have?"

"Isn't she formidable?" Lucius said dreamily. "A Gryffindor manipulates two Slytherins into a situation which leaves them no choice but to comply with her wishes."

"And neither of us resents her for having us over a barrel," Severus added. "Merlin, the mere thought of her makes me…" He cleared his throat and studied the contents of his glass.

Lucius smirked. "Likewise. And I can't wait to get my hands on you, either. It's been a long time…" The look he gave Severus was well beyond smouldering.

Slightly pink around the ears, Severus leaned back and raised an eyebrow at his friend. "A mere collateral bonus, Lucius. But" – he pointedly looked at the outline of Lucius' body under the duvet – "definitely a bonus."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Lucius patted the sheet. "Tell her we've made our decision, get naked, and-"

"I think I ought to talk to Narcissa before," Severus said. "It's the decent thing to do. Besides, even though you're not an invalid, you really should get some rest. I suggest that you stay in bed till dinner – alone! – and that we tell Hermione after dinner."

"You're merely trying to get some one-on-one sex while I'm languishing here on my sickbed!"

"Sweet Merlin! You could whinge for England. All right, I promise I won't try anything of the kind."

Lucius made a moue. "She'll try, though."

"I'll fend her off, okay?"

"I'm ahead anyway." Lucius waved a magnanimous hand. "I almost fucked her last night, and I almost fucked her this morning. And" – he grinned – "last night _I_ rejected _her_. You just go ahead."

Frowning, Severus got up and put his hand on Lucius' forehead. "You're running a fever – the Blood Replenisher has taken full effect. You ought to sleep."

Lucius smiled, eyes crossing slightly. "Will you tuck me in?"

"You are already as tucked in as possible, Lucius. Sleep now."

"Give us a kiss, then."

"Lucius…"

"Please?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" He bent further down, until his lips touched Lucius'. "Will you sleep now?"

"Just…" Lucius' tongue darted out to caress Severus' lips. "Just a bit more…"

"Hufflepuff," Severus muttered but intensified the kiss. "And now sleep, insufferable man that you are."

oooo

*Shamelessly stolen from PTerry: in „Guards, Guards!": when Vimes and Carrot are being denied access to the Patrician's palace – currently occupied by a dragon – Lance Constable Carrot solves the problem by single-handedly eliminating the palace guards. His battle cry, as he explains to Sam Vimes, is a Dwarfish War Yodel.


	10. Chapter 10

Hand poised to knock on the nursery door, Severus paused in his movement to listen to the soft murmur of voices coming from within. He meant to frown disapprovingly but smiled to himself. Narcissa and Longbottom – would wonders never cease? Who would have thought… But that was just as true for him – he'd been together more than half a year with Narcissa, had proposed to her and intended to share his life with her. Even though he had known, in his heart of hearts, that it was a mistake, he would have expected to feel a modicum of pain, or at least indignation, at being exchanged in the blink of an eye for a mere pup.

Not that Severus was going to admit it to his friend of old – the man was already more full of himself than Gilderoy Lockhart could ever have hoped to be – but Lucius was probably right: the Manor was weaving its protective magic around its occupants, had maybe even got the House Elves to put something in that chocolate cake… The Manor, however autonomous and powerful, probably also drew on the magic and subconscious of the head of the family – how strong must Lucius' desire be for things to resolve themselves in such a happy manner… Considering matters from this point of view, it probably _was _best for the three of them to live here; not that the house would be able to dissipate all the everyday frictions and conflicts that were bound to arise given their temperaments, but it could be trusted to do its utmost to facilitate the harmonious coexistence of three very different people.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, he reached out to caress the solid stone wall and felt a small buzz running through his fingers.

Nodding to himself, he opened the door, careful not to make any noise.

Since he meant to give his unfaithful paramour and her new inamorato at least a slight taste of Snape in Righteous Wrath, he had to cover his mouth with his hand and feign a yawn to dissimulate his smile at the domestic idyll he'd intruded upon: Scorpius lay curled up in his bed; Narcissa was half-sitting, half-lying next to him, her hand clutched firmly between Scorpius' fingers, and Longbottom had drawn a chair close to the other side of the bed. His back turned towards the door, bending forward, he was stroking Scorpius' hair; Narcissa's and his foreheads were almost touching.

"Hush," Narcissa murmured. "Don't worry, Scorpius. Your grandfather is nothing if not resilient – I should know, having been married to him for more than twenty years."

Scorpius sniffled. "His face was… all… all… grey, Grandma. He looked… so _dead_!"

Narcissa, who had flinched slightly at being called Grandma, motioned with her head for Severus to join them. He shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

"You know I'm an Herbologist, don't you Scorpius?" Neville joined in. "And I'm sure you know that Herbologists have to learn a lot about healing, too, because we provide the plants and herbs for the Healers, and they're not always as good at Herbology as they ought to be."

"I know," Scorpius said. "Dad told me you're the best Herbologist in the country, and he'd love for me to get to know you, but since Mum is such a stick-in-the-mud, he'd have to arrange for us to meet somewhere else than at home."

"Well, I'm glad we've finally met," Neville said diplomatically. Narcissa was smiling a cat-that-got-the-cream smile. "And if your dad says that I'm the best, I'm the best, right? So if I tell you that Lucius is going to be fine by dinnertime, you know you can believe me, don't you? Besides, you're well aware that your uncle Severus is the finest potions maker there is – he prepared the potions for your grandfather himself, just for him. So you can be sure he'll be as right as rain."

Scorpius gave these words due consideration and nodded. "But it's all my fault – I have to tell Granddad I'm sorry."

"I'm sure he doesn't see it that way," Severus said.

"Uncle Severus!"

It was lucky that both Narcissa and Longbottom had excellent reflexes – besides there was also a certain guilty, flinching-apart factor at play, he thought – or he would've had to heal two broken noses.

Scorpius started to clamber out of his bed, then stilled. "Why are you looking so serious? Is Granddad..." His eyes, already red and puffy, filled with tears again, and his lower lip started to tremble alarmingly.

"If I'm looking serious," Severus said, glaring at the two adults in turn, "it has got nothing to do with you or Lucius who, by the way, is enjoying excellent health and will doubtlessly be eating his dinner with voracious appetite."

Neville patted the boy's back, not without shooting Severus an apologetic look. "That's what Blood Replenishing Potion does," he explained. "It doesn't just multiply the blood cells, but also cranks up the metabolism, but that means you get really, really hungry."

"I'm always really, really hungry," Scorpius observed, "Even without the potion."

"That's because you're growing," Narcissa said. "Which reminds me – have you eaten today at all?"

"I had breakfast in Granddad's bed – Whippy scolded me for getting crumbs everywhere. After that... no, I don't think so. How long is it till dinner? And can I stay up again to have cocktails and eat together with the grown-ups?"

"Of course you can," Neville said, unheeding of Severus rolling his eyes. "It wouldn't be half as much fun without you. Now" – he surreptitiously stroked Narcissa's hand, noticed Severus noticing and blushed vividly – "why don't the two of us go off to the kitchens and nick some food? Dinner is in four hours, and I don't think either of us will be able to survive till then without eating something. We could put it in a basket and go for a picnic, what do you think?"

Scorpius cocked his head, then nodded. "That sounds great. I'd just... can I go see Grandfather now?"

Severus sat down at the foot of the bed; Scorpius immediately crawled towards him and sat on his lap. Longbottom opened his mouth, doubtlessly to utter some inane comment about Potions classes and mellowing, but Severus' gimlet-eyed stare made him shut it again. "Mr Longbottom already told you how the potion works. Do you know what 'metabolism' means?"

"Something like digestion?" Scorpius asked hopefully. "I mean because it's got to do with being hungry."

"You are a very clever boy," Narcissa said smiling.

Scorpius accepted the compliment as his due, regally inclining his head. "Dad says so too, and Granddad and Uncle Severus. Mum says I'm way too clever for my own good."

"And your mother is certainly right on that count, young man," Severus said, fondly ruffling the mop of blond hair. "Metabolism – that's Greek, by the way, and means transforming – is what keeps us alive: the body transforms the energy we give it through eating. It's a bit like a fire burning wood and giving off warmth."

"Bodies are warm, too," Scorpius offered.

"Precisely. Our bodies burn energy to keep themselves at exactly the temperature they need. Now, what happens if you have a fire burning, and you pour a flammable liquid into it, like for example alcohol?"

The boy turned wide blue eyes up to meet Severus'. "Alcohol? Are you saying Granddad is drunk?"

"This is no laughing matter," Severus snarled at the two chortling adults, who stopped immediately, looking suitably chastened. "No, Scorpius, your grandfather is not drunk. By giving him the potion, I made his metabolism do the same a fire does when you pour alcohol on it: it suddenly gets hotter."

"Granddad got hotter? Wait, I know what you mean – he's got a fever, hasn't he?"

"I wish that at least some of my students had been as clever as you," Severus said with a pointed look at Longbottom, who grinned back in an entirely too unrepentant fashion. "You hit the nail on the head. Lucius has a fever, which is a side effect of the potion and will pass rather quickly. But right now he has to sleep. So it would really be best if you went to have your picnic with Mr Longbottom, after which you'll have a bath, because you're already looking rather grubby, and after I've inspected your ears and neck for cleanliness, we'll go downstairs for cocktails and you can make sure Lucius is fine."

"I always wash behind my ears," Scorpius said indignantly.

"Excellent, so you don't have to be anxious about the inspection," Severus deadpanned.

"What about you and Grandma, then," Scorpius asked, already out of bed and gathering things that were apparently indispensable for a picnic, like Gobstones, a deck of Exploding Snap cards and a well-cuddled teddy bear. "Do you have to get her pregnant now, so you can marry her? Do grandmas get pregnant at all? Because then they'd have to be mother _and_ grandmother, and they'd get a bit confused, like-"

"I think we'd better go now," Neville interjected hastily and took the hand of the Voice of Innocence. "See you later, Severus, Narcissa!"

In all the time they had been together, Severus had never seen his almost-but-not-quite wife sprawled on her back, with no regard whatsoever for decorum, forearm thrown across her face, and laughing so hard that the bed was creaking. He stretched out next to her, long legs dangling off the bed and head resting on his arm, and watched her – he was genuinely fond of her and liked her, he realized, a little surprised because he hadn't expected those feelings actually to survive the increasingly strained relationship, and he wanted them to stay friends.

When the fit of hilarity finally abated, Narcissa propped herself up on her elbow and smiled at him. She was still wearing her riding clothes; blond strands were escaping the severe chignon, and her cheeks were rosy. "I wish," she said, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye, "that I hadn't been so frigging stupid about Draco being loyal to his father – do you think it's too late to make amends and get to know my grandson? He's utterly adorable, even though he calls me Grandma."

"You'll have to get past your bitch of a daughter-in-law, but knowing you, you're not only going to succeed but also have a lot of fun with the getting past." Severus reached out to caress her cheek. "I've never seen you so radiant. It suits you."

"Well..." Narcissa toyed with a corner of the pillowcase. "It seems that neither of us reached their full potential during our relationship."

"But we would've gone through with it, wouldn't we?"

"Probably." She sighed. "With the wedding, and a steadily declining marriage, and finally a divorce. And we'd have ended up hating each other. As things are, maybe we can remain friends – you'd like that, too, wouldn't you?"

"I'd like that very much," Severus confirmed. "So, what about you and Longbottom? Have you finally reached the age where women begin to lust after younger men?"

Narcissa swatted his hand. "I'd have a lot to say about men your age lusting after younger women, but I'll be all superior and forgiving, so I won't mention it."

"Thank you." He caught the hand and kissed it. "Still, I'd like to hear more about Longbottom – what is it that draws you to him?"

"I... had a kind of revelation this morning. I'd meant to talk to Lucius, but he wasn't in his room. Scorpius was asleep in his bed, and..." She shuddered. "When I saw him there, it all came crashing down on me – the mistakes I'd made, how badly things had gone with Lucius... He was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen – not that I'd seen that many – and I honestly thought I loved him."

"Whereas...?"

She gave him a crooked little smile. "I was eighteen, Severus. Inexperienced and full of hormones. The real problem was that I had no idea back then who I really was. How much I needed, and still need, someone who truly wants what I have to give – Bella and I aren't so very different, you know, and we both have, had, this incredibly strong protective streak."

"So does Lucius – both families have Veela blood. Your parents ought to have considered that before bartering you off. It's funny, really," he continued, "how the dark aspect of the Veela manifested itself in Bella and your mother, to name but two, whereas you got the beauty and the desire to protect."

"Funny maybe, but not that difficult to explain. I spent most of my childhood away from Grimmauld Place, but Bella was always there until she went to Hogwarts. Unlike me, she always came back for the holidays, too. That house was just plain evil. Toxic."

"And Lucius grew up here at the Manor – it makes sense, doesn't it?"

"It does," Narcissa confirmed gravely. "I only wish I hadn't spent so many years trying to love and protect those who neither wanted nor needed it. But it's never too late, is it?"

"I sincerely hope that it's not. And I can see how Longbottom would fit you perfectly – he'd want children, too, I suppose?"

Narcissa blushed. "He may have, uh, mentioned something like that, yes. But first we're going to travel, and I must say I'm looking forward to it immensely. I can hardly wait."

"You're going to get blisters. And your nails will break."

"As I said, I can hardly wait." She chuckled; suddenly serious, she took Severus' hand. "What about you, Severus? Do you think... will Granger, I mean Hermione, will she take you back?"

"She seemed amenable to the idea, yes."

"Severus, I know you. Your eyes are glittering in this particular fashion – there's more to it than just taking you back, isn't there?"

"There is definitely more to it," Severus confirmed. "I promise you'll learn all about it shortly – I just don't want to talk about it quite yet."

"For fear of attracting the attention of malign spirits?"

He kissed her forehead. "Something like that, yes. And now you'll have to excuse me – I have to look after your unrepentant ex-husband."

He was almost out the door, when Narcissa called after him, "Give him a kiss for me, will you?" and winked in a most diabolical fashion.

oooo

It had taken Hermione a while to recover from the morning's emotional roller coaster: glad for the welcoming quiet of the library with its smell of leather, mingling with the aroma of the tea the elves kept refreshing and whiffs of rose and honeysuckle from the garden, she'd spent a good half-hour crying; then she'd sternly admonished herself to Get a grip, for fuck's sake, Granger, started to read and promptly dozed off.

It was almost three p.m. when she woke up, stomach growling ferociously. Tea in the library seemed appealing, but the outdoors beckoned with a blue sky and dizzying scents, so she decided to change into a Muggle sundress, straw hat and sandals, and find a nice shady spot for an impromptu picnic, a glass of wine and a book.

Changed and refreshed, she skipped down the stairs and was just about to call Cissy, so she could show her the way to the kitchens, when Neville and Scorpius emerged from behind a corner, laughing and talking.

"Oy, Hermione! Want to come and have a picnic with us?" Neville called.

"We've got five different kinds of cakes," Scorpius announced, pointing at the miniaturized basket Neville was carrying. "And egg-bacon-and-watercress sandwiches. Fruit, too."

"And salad," Neville added, "But Scorpius doesn't believe in salad."

"It's real," Hermione said, "so you don't have to believe in it, you know?"

Scorpius dissolved into a fit of the giggles and took her hand. "You're funny. I don't have to stop myself laughing now," he added gravely, "Because Granddad isn't going to die."

Neville hastened to explain to a flabbergasted Hermione what had happened while she'd been dozing the morning away in the library.

Quick to cut to the heart of the matter, Hermione waited until Scorpius was running ahead of them and asked, keeping her voice low (because the boy seemed to have been born with Extendable Ears), "So Severus spent almost two hours with Lucius?"

Neville nodded, looking intrigued.

"And when he joined you in the nursery, he was in a good mood?"

"Seeing as it's Snape we're talking about, I'd hesitate to call it a good mood," Neville said and promptly got elbowed in the ribs. "But he seemed... light-hearted I guess. And in pretty high spirits, considering that he saw me holding hands with Narcissa."

"Holding... Neville, is there anything else of great importance I ought to know about? Has Voldemort been resurrected around lunchtime? Have the Goblins started to give away gold to the poor?"

Neville had the good grace to look somewhat abashed. "I don't think so, but... what can I say? It's all of us, but it's also the Manor. Just look at what happened in less than twenty-four hours – I've fallen in love with Narcissa, and she with me, even though I still think I'm dreaming, and Severus-" He stopped in his tracks. "You've had your talk with Severus, right?"

"Not just with him," Hermione said grimly, taking Neville's arm. "Before that, my room locked Lucius and me in together, so we could clear the air and find out, well, what it is we truly want," she finished a bit lamely.

"What you truly – but I thought you and Severus...?"

"That, too," she said, suddenly grinning like a loon.

"You mean, the three... Merlin's wrinkly buttocks, that's..."

"I knew it! I knew you know a lot of swearwords, too," the Voice of Innocence piped up.

Neville dropped the basket. Scorpius picked it up, plucked Neville's wand from where it peeked out of his back pocket and tapped the basket with it. After carefully putting the wand back in Neville's pocket, he opened the lid and critically examined their provisions. "I think we'll have to go back and get a new one," he announced. "Except..." He peered into the basket again. "Except if you like chocolate cream all over your sandwiches."

Neville stared. "The three..."

"No, Uncle Neville, all of the sandwiches, not just three. I can call you Uncle Neville, right?"

Pinching his arm to make sure he was awake, Neville nodded absentmindedly. "Sure. Right now you could call me Doofus Dumbass, for all I care."

Scorpius clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Now that," he said, "would _really_ be bad manners."

oooo


	11. Chapter 11

There had been more consommé and Burgundy after Lucius had woken from his healing sleep, cool and refreshed; there'd also been one or three more kisses from Severus.

At six, an hour before cocktails were to be served, he'd been apprised by Severus of all the latest developments and thus felt eager to have a bath, dress in a manner apt both to seduce and intimidate, make a stately descent to the library and enjoy a fine whisky before ingesting about half an ox.

He'd hoped for Severus or Hermione to arrive first; the fates (or probably the Manor was still playing its little games), however, saw fit to make his son and Astoria slightly early, and all the others rather late.

Astoria's glass-scraping-over-tin voice carried effortlessly down the corridor; even though he couldn't make out the words just yet, Lucius winced and told Cissy to bring a plate of canapés. A mere ten seconds of his daughter-in-law's shrill chatter were impossible to endure on an empty stomach, if she was in high dudgeon. Who knew how long he'd be exposed to it before the auxiliary troops arrived.

The voices came nearer.

"...told you that he's much too trusting towards strangers, and now he's unable to shut up about Hermione this and Hermione that – I don't know what to do anymore! I'm at my wit's end."

"It didn't take you overly long to get there, I'm sure" Draco said dryly, holding the door open for her. "Good evening, Father. Did you have a good day?"

Ah, everybody had been discreet, then. Good. "It has been so far, yes." Lucius exchanged a pregnant look with his son over the back of Astoria's hand. "And you? I haven't seen you all day long."

Astoria tossed her blond curls. "I had a terrible headache – not that I'm surprised, what with all the discord last night... I thrive on harmony. People behaving so hatefully make me quite sick."

"We shall endeavour to be on our best behaviour, then," Lucius said, solemnly handing her a flute of champagne and abandoning all hope that she might have caught the underlying sarcasm. "What about you then, Draco?"

"I had to pop down to – no whisky, please, Father, but if you have some of that excellent Armagnac left? Oh, great, thanks." He took a sip and relaxed visibly. "The Goblins had fucked up the-"

"Language, Draco," his wife admonished him. "I must say, I despair of you sometimes – Scorpius literally hangs on your lips and – what?"

Draco was making a show of examining his mirrored image in his tumbler. "Unless I have very bad eyesight, and Scorpius is indeed hanging on my lips, dear, I daresay you meant 'practically', or 'virtually', at a pinch."

Astoria flushed from hairline to neckline. "You see?" she addressed Lucius, "How is my son ever going to respect me – Draco keeps doing this, ridiculing me, and in front of the child, too! Of course he doesn't listen to me! I tell him not to keep bad company, and he insists on being friends with that ginger-topped hellion. I tell him to keep away from strangers, and he spends the afternoon with Granger, of all people, and with Neville Longbottom!"

Lucius selected another canapé. "I fail to see how spending time with Neville and Hermione could be bad for him."

The tendons in Astoria's neck stood out from the effort of biting back a vicious retort; she did have a healthy respect of her father-in-law. "Of course you wouldn't see that, Lucius," she said after taking a sip of champagne. "Probably because you weren't waiting for him in the nursery, worried half to death" – her eyes started brimming with tears – "that something might have happened to him, only to have him brought back to you by that pair of irresponsible youths-"

"They're two years your seniors," Draco interrupted her.

"In years, maybe," she retorted scathingly. "In every other respect they are worse than children – why, Scorpius told me that they'd had bacon-and-egg sandwiches with chocolate sauce, and... and some completely real salad – whatever that's supposed to mean – and that he'd thrown up, no less than three times, because he'd overeaten! And he thought it was great fun!"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Lucius shot him a look. He was the head of the family, and it was time for Astoria to swallow one or two unpleasant truths. Draco could pick up the pieces later – that way he wouldn't be getting it in the neck for the next year or so, but Astoria would still be sufficiently chastened. He put a gentle but firm arm around his daughter-in-law's shoulders and led her out onto the terrace.

Time to drop the mask and strip off the velvet gloves.

"Your son," he said, gripping her chin, thus forcing her to look at him, "is a beautiful, gifted and singularly good-natured child. He is loving, warm-hearted and curious." She tried to twist out of his grasp, but he held her. "If you continue to try and make him into a copy of your own, insignificant and empty-headed self – if you insist on impressing your so-called values on a mind that is far superior to the limited space between your ears..." He paused, relishing the fear in her eyes. "Draco will find out, dearest daughter-in-law, that your ridiculous attempts at faking my signature have not gone unnoticed by me or by Madame Malkin, and _you_ will find out that it is extremely unwise to make passes at the admittedly appetizing shop assistant at _Witch Shoes_. Are we understood?"

Astoria's face had drained of all colour; she was swaying slightly but nodded.

"Good. From now on you will leave decisions as to whom Scorpius may associate with to your husband and me. You will not say a word against Miss Granger, Mr Longbottom or my former wife. And" – he pressed his fingers a little harder into her jaw – "you will refrain from sharing your preposterous gossip with my grandson. Is that clear?"

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Yes."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Yes... Sir."

"Very well. Now run off and wash your face, and then come back to the library. Smiling."

With a grim smirk, Lucius watched her slip through the open door into the dining room, and then went back to join his son in the library. "And now tell me all about the Goblins' latest fuck-up," he said, pouring himself another whisky.

oooo

"Well that was a strange evening," Hermione said. "Not that I know Astoria all that well, but I don't think I've ever seen her so quiet and well-behaved."

Lucius grinned wolfishly. "She was subjected to some light pruning before dinner. Another glass of port, my dear?"

"You don't have to get her drunk tonight," Severus said. "I know it's hard to break the habit of a lifetime, but there you are."

Hermione looked at them in turn, feeling her face go hot. "A bit of Dutch courage wouldn't go amiss, I guess. I confess to feeling like the guy who let the genie out of the bottle – mind reeling with possibilities but slightly terrified."

Sitting down on the sofa on her other side and handing her another glass of port, Lucius smiled at her. "We'll be granting more than three wishes, though, so that's a distinct improvement."

Severus snorted. "Careful, Lucius. Don't go making promises you might not be able to keep."

"Mind out of the gutter, Snape. I was not alluding to my prowess in the bedroom. Or yours for that matter – five years aren't that much of a difference."

"Is this how it's going to be every day of the rest of my life from now on?" Hermione asked plaintively. "Testosterone dripping off the walls, peacocks displaying their tails, and mine-is-bigger-than-yours allusions, badly hidden under Quidditch metaphors?"

"Every day of the rest of your life, huh?" said Severus, never one to overlook the essentials.

"Well, um, yes. Isn't that what we all want? Minus the Quidditch metaphors, if possible. And do you think" – she gently elbowed Lucius – "that you could have a word with Scorpius about not calling me Grandma?"

"I might be persuaded to do so," Lucius replied, "if offered an appropriate incentive."

"Would me not calling you 'Grandpa Lucius' in bed fit the bill?"

"There's no need to guffaw, Severus. Rather than indulge in undignified behaviour, maybe you could apply your allegedly brilliant mind to the problem of three hundred guests coming to attend a wedding that won't take place."

"Shit." Severus held his glass out for a refill. "I completely forgot about that – Longbottom and Narcissa won't be up for tying the knot just yet, I suppose?"

Hermione shook her head. "Even if they were, I guess they wouldn't like to have a second-hand wedding with somebody else's guests."

"Mmmh. There's that."

"That's all you're able to come up with?" Lucius said scathingly. "My, how the mighty have fallen. Or are there other, more pressing concerns on your minds? Because, should that be the case, I propose that we leave the problem-solving for tomorrow and get on with the shagging."

A brief squabble ensued, as they discussed which was the appropriate locale for their first foray into the realm of the Beast with Three Backs, while they were climbing the stairs; Lucius won – of course – by pointing out that his bedroom was the only one without direct neighbours.

The two wizards had another glass of brandy, while Hermione excused herself and vanished in Lucius' bathroom to freshen up and change into something more indecent. They clinked their glasses together in a silent toast.

A slight breeze from the garden ruffled the curtains. Crickets chirped and nightingales trilled their arias.

"She wasn't really dirty, was she?" Severus said after a while, giving Lucius a questioning look.

"In any other than a purely metaphorical sense, no, she wasn't."

"You don't think she got cold feet and Apparated back home, do you?"

"You can't Apparate from the Manor, Severus."

"Oh, right. I forgot."

Another ten minutes and another glass of brandy later, Lucius got brusquely to his feet and strode towards the bathroom door. "Hermione?" He knocked. "Hermione?"

"I'm okay," came the muffled reply.

"Pleased though I am to hear it, I hope you won't stay in there much longer, keeping us-"

The door opened. Hermione shuffled out, clad in very worn, flannel pyjama bottoms and a super-large t-shirt, inscribed on the front with "My anger management class PISSES ME OFF!" Her eyes were red, and her hair looked like an idea for a bat trap sketched by a mad scientist on LSD. Without looking left or right, she dragged her feet towards the fireplace, plopped down on the rug and pulled a bar of Honeyduke's Best Dark Medichocolate with Raisins from a pocket of her pants. Both men watched, completely nonplussed, as the sweet vanished at alarming speed.

"Hermione?" Severus ventured.

"What?"

"I was, I mean we were... somehow you gave us the impression that there was to be... erm, sex?"

"Go ahead, then."

"I daresay we'd have a lot more fun if you joined us, my darling," Lucius said in dulcet tones, staying well out of her line of fire.

"Yeah, well, that's not going to happen."

Severus, seeing that Lucius was close to losing his temper, shot him a warning look, got up and went to sit next to her on the floor. Lucius did notice, though, that he was keeping a weather eye on her wand hand.

"Hermione, darling, what's the matter with you? Have you changed your mind?"

Suddenly he had to deal with an armful of sobbing Hermione. Galvanized into action by his friend's imploring look, Lucius hastily went over to sit down on her other side and caress her back. "Hermione," he cooed, "What's wrong with you, sweet?"

"Nothing's wrong with me, you bleeding idiots," she sobbed. "And I haven't changed my mind – why would I do such a thing?"

The two wizards exchanged looks of utter cluelessness.

"I've got my fucking period, that's what's wrong! I'd been looking forward..." She furiously wiped at her eyes. "I wanted so much to... and now... Fuck it!" she screamed. "It's fucking unfair! You stupid men, with your bloody stupid penises" – Lucius very carefully filched the wand from her pocket – "you never have to worry about such things! But merely because I'm a fucking woman, I can't have sex tonight, because..."

"My maternal great-uncle Frivolus, may he rest in peace," Lucius began, ignoring Severus' frantic signs to shut up, "owned a brothel in Liverpool."

The volume of Hermione's sobs decreased slightly, and her right hand wandered towards her pocket. Lucius caught the fingers and held them, stroking gently. "Given that the resident ladies were out of business five days a month, and because he was one of the greediest money-grabbers ever to grace this earth, he developed a spell to take care of the problem."

Hermione's face emerged, slightly crumpled, from the crook of Severus' shoulder. She wasn't looking overly friendly.

"Which goes to show," Lucius continued without missing a beat, "that there are men who have nothing in mind but their own gain and baser instincts. We, however, would never even dream of casting such a spell. Even if it happened to have been handed down through the generations. We'd much rather wait, and in the meantime it's just kissing and cuddling and sleeping together in a purely platonic fashion."

He was rewarded with a very wet patch on his shoulder and kisses that tasted of chocolate and Hermione.

Behind her back, Severus gave him the thumbs-up, mouthing, "Close one!" Lucius nodded, rolling his eyes.

It wasn't too bad, though, both of them mused later, to have her sleeping between them peacefully, snoring softly and filling the bed with an astonishing amount of bushy hair and icy feet.

oooo

The Manor feels the cool prickle of moonlight on its walls. The moon is full tonight; the water deep down in the earth responds to its pull and rises, rises, towards the cavernous foundations where the Manor's magic dwells.

The Manor lets the cool night air filter through the pores of its walls; it travels down, down, to mingle with water and magic, laughing and bubbling, feeding the Manor.

Content and sated, the Manor reaches out towards the minds of its occupants. Bubbles of laughing magic float into their dreams, making them smile in their sleep.

oooo


	12. Chapter 12

Scorpius had been up till after midnight, playing Gobstones with Whippy.

The Younger Malfoys employed paid House Elves, who held rather lenient views on self-punishment in case they didn't follow their employers' instructions to the letter. Besides, young Master Scorpius had argued, with unimpeachable logic, that, firstly, an elf's lifespan was about four times a wizard's, that therefore, secondly, Whippy would in all probability be working for Scorpius once his parents had gone to meet their maker, and that, thirdly, he was the unique heir which meant, fourthly, that Whippy was paid with Scorpius' money anyway and therefore ought to adjust her loyalties accordingly and obey his commands rather than his parents'.

This suited Whippy just fine; she also preferred leaving the more mundane household tasks to her two more traditionally-minded compatriots. Having to devote her time and attention to young Master Scorpius was the perfect excuse for skiving off chores like cleaning and cooking, and nobody needed to know that they played for Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Whippy never lost a game.

Usually Scorpius was up at sunrise, but after last night's epic Gobstone battle he'd only opened his eyes when the sun had almost gone past the horse chestnut tree. Bella was curled up next to him – she rarely slept in his bed when they were staying at the Manor, where she obviously enjoyed roaming the grounds freely – and he rolled over to bury his face in her fur and scratch her behind the ears. Lulled by her purring, he thought back to last night.

Mum had been very strange. At first, when he'd come back from the picnic – oh, how he hoped that he'd be allowed to see Hermione and Neville again! – she'd been just as she always was: she'd scolded him for being dirty, and for being late, and probably he shouldn't have told her that he'd thrown up...

When he'd come down to dinner with Uncle Severus, she'd been looking... off, somehow. Like Cissy, when she'd done something wrong and Granddad had told her off. But Granddad couldn't tell off Mum – or could he? Come to think of it, he probably could. Granddad was a powerful wizard, and Mum was a bit afraid of him.

Anyway, since Scorpius really wanted to be friends with Neville and Hermione but did have his doubts as to his mother allowing it, talking about it to Granddad seemed to be the more promising solution. Mum had actually been nice to him last night when she'd tucked him into bed, but that probably wouldn't last – there was a proverb about that sort of thing, something to do with lepers who never changed their spots… Or was that sports? Not that it made much sense, since he'd read somewhere that lepers' fingers fell off one by one, and so they'd have to change sports sooner or later. In Scorpius' experience, proverbs scarcely ever made a lot of sense, though, so it didn't really matter. Anyway, Granddad was the much safer option, and, unlike Mum, he seemed to like Neville and Hermione well enough. And he would surely explain about the lepers.

He gave Bella a last cuddle and made sure that the window was open, so she would be able to climb out and into the large horse chestnut tree, and from there to freedom. His dad's spare wand could stay tucked into its secret place for the moment; it was a lot more secret than the one Dad used for hiding it. Granddad would probably be dishevelled again, though, so he fished under the bed for the brush he used for Bella's fur. Much better than his fingers, really. Granddad would be pleased; he had very strong opinions on the importance of foresight, and bringing the brush proved that Scorpius had lots of it.

Scorpius tiptoed down the corridor – even though he'd woken late by his own standards, the others were probably still asleep – and stopped in front of Granddad's bedroom door. Just in time, he remembered that the handle squeaked unless you cast a Silencing Spell on it. Was he getting old? Dad always said he was getting old when he forgot something, but then Dad was quite a bit older than Scorpius. But there was nothing for it – unless he meant to wake up Granddad, who was not a morning person, in an overly brusque fashion, he'd have to go back for his wand.

On his way back to the nursery it occurred to him that Neville always woke up early; he'd told him so yesterday during their picnic, when Scorpius kept bombarding him with questions about the work of an Herbologist. Even better, he thought. He'd go see Neville first, and later on he'd pay Granddad a visit – why disturb a non-morning person, if there was a morning person close at hand, after all.

Neville's door handle didn't squeak, but Scorpius' grandmother did.

Puzzled, Scorpius remained standing on the doorstep. "I thought this was your room," he said to Neville.

"It's my room all right, mate. Knocking wouldn't harm, though."

"But... but Grandma is here. Sorry about not knocking – please don't tell Mum!"

Narcissa raised herself on one elbow and looked at Scorpius over Neville's shoulder. "You were in Lucius' bed yesterday morning, remember?"

"Yes but... but he's my granddad."

"And I am your grandma," Narcissa said, "So there you are."

"I suppose..." Scorpius said, frowning. There was a flaw somewhere, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. If Neville was Granddad, and Grandma was Scorpius, then... This kind of reasoning reminded him of another problem he'd solved through Applied Analogy. "You've found yourself a Scorpius!" he exclaimed. "I mean, if you were Bella, you would..."

"Are you quite all right, Scorpius?"

He nodded, curls a-bounce. "Yes, I'm all right. I have to go find Uncle Severus now." And he dashed out of the room.

Uncle Severus wasn't in his room – what a pity, really; Scorpius yearned to give him the good news: Grandma had found herself a Scorpius, and now he could go and marry Hermione. Hermione wasn't in her room, either. Scorpius felt that he was going to burst any moment now, unless he could talk to somebody. Well not Mum, and unfortunately Dad shared a room with her, so he was out, too... It would have to be Granddad after all; poor Granddad, but he'd make up for it by brushing his hair really well.

The question was, to knock or not to knock. Knocking was politer, but not knocking was gentler, which was preferable if Granddad was still asleep. He didn't react too well to getting a fright, either. Once, when Uncle Severus had approached him unawares, and Granddad had almost hexed him into a smear on the wall (according to Uncle Severus), Uncle Severus had called him a Fucking Wand-Happy Paranoid Bastard. So it was probably better to enter silently, without knocking. You never knew, and Scorpius didn't want to end up as a smear on the wall. There would be lamb chops for lunch after all, Whippy had told him so last night, and smears on the wall probably had a hard time eating lamb chops.

He darted back to the nursery, fished the wand out of the hole in the curtain's bottom seam, and was back at Granddad's door ten seconds later. Drawing a deep breath, he concentrated and cast _Silencio_ on the door handle before turning it very gently.

So this was where everybody had got to! There was Uncle Severus, and there was Hermione as well, snuggling between Granddad and Uncle Severus. The bed seemed a bit crowded, but surely there was room for a small boy? Scorpius tiptoed across the Persian rug, trying not to giggle when the fringe tickled between his naked toes, and stood next to the bed, contemplating how best to perform the act of self-insertion. Wriggle under the covers and go upwards from the foot of the bed? Maybe not; that's what Bella would do, or a dog. However, unless he wanted to stay close to the edge, where he'd probably be feeling very isolated and lonely, he somehow had to get to the centre. That meant climbing across either Granddad or Uncle Severus, and Scorpius felt that neither would take kindly to being climbed across. What to do?

He gazed at the arrangement before him limb by limb, trying to find a weak spot, which was what all good strategists did. When his eyes wandered towards the headboard, he looked directly into a pair of large brown eyes. He sketched a bow and gave a little wave.

Hermione raised her head a fraction, closed her eyes and opened them again. She waved back. Scorpius tried to convey by sign language that he'd be very happy to join them. Hermione nodded and put a finger to her lips. So she knew about Granddad being a Fucking Wand-Happy Paranoid Bastard. Good. He didn't want Hermione to end up as a smear on the wall – she was nice and fun, just like Neville.

When Hermione bent over Lucius to kiss him, Scorpius felt a bit embarrassed – Mum always told him to go play in his room, whenever Dad started to kiss her, so he was unsure what to do. In the end he settled for waiting but looking politely at the ceiling. It was a good compromise, he thought.

"Lucius," Hermione whispered. "Lucius, dear, wake up."

Granddad muttered something Scorpius couldn't quite catch.

Hermione kissed Granddad again – wasn't that against the rules? Uncle Severus was still asleep, but what if he woke up? Was he going to hex her? Or Granddad? "I know you're awake, Lucius," she murmured, "So why don't you just open your eyes?"

"Quiet, woman. I'm not a morning person, and unless you're offering to perform acts of utter depravity, I refuse to-"

"What's depravity?" Scorpius asked, driven by his love for words which had made him forget that he was to be quiet. "Sorry, Granddad. I didn't mean to give you a fright." He shuffled his feet. "I could brush your hair, though, if you want me to – look, I brought Bella's brush!"

The next moment a lot of things happened at the same time. Granddad used words Mum would probably not have approved of (though there was a chance she wouldn't even know what they meant) and covered his face with his hands, Hermione started laughing, and Uncle Severus woke up; his right hand strayed towards the bedside table – oh no, Scorpius thought, he's going to hex…

And then he didn't think anything anymore but pulled his wand and turned Uncle Severus into a rabbit – he'd no idea how he'd done it, but the pretty black rabbit lolloping around the bed and nibbling at the cushions was… had been…

Scorpius dropped the wand and broke into tears of bitter regret.

oooo

"It'll take some time until I get used to sleeping in a bed with two people," Hermione observed. She took a bite of her croissant. "What about you, Severus? Severus?"

"I feel a perverse longing for carrots, which I'm trying to ignore."

"It'll go away, just give it another hour or so. Maybe the House Elves could rustle up some carrot cake?" Undeterred by his withering glare, she repeated, "So how was your night? Did you sleep well?"

"Not so bad, until I got turned into an incontinent rodent."

"Rabbits aren't-"

"I know rabbits aren't rodents, Hermione. In any case, getting used to new sleeping arrangements seems to be the least of our problems right now." From their shady corner on the north-facing terrace, he looked out over the treetops; a smile curled his lips as Lucius and Scorpius became briefly visible before they vanished again behind the foamy green mass.

"Try to think of it as a challenge. Oh, and pass the butter, please." She carefully arranged butter and orange jam on the next bite of croissant. "I'm not saying that it's going to be easy-peasy, but the two of you seem to have Scorpius well in hand. It's funny, really" – she took a sip of coffee – "how Lucius has changed. I think it becomes most apparent when he's interacting with Scorpius. And I wonder how Draco feels about it."

"Considering that he was appallingly easy to persuade to leave his son with us, I'd say he isn't overly distressed by the idea."

"I wouldn't be so sure." She helped herself to a strawberry and examined it carefully before popping it into her mouth. "Don't forget that it was Lucius who did the persuading. Not that I wouldn't have done the same in his place – he loves this child to bits. Poor Scorpius, I had no idea Astoria has been neglecting him so."

"None of us did, or you bet that Lucius would've taken steps much earlier. I have to say, he's been making a real effort with Astoria, although he did so entirely for Draco's and Scorpius' sake. He was against her right from the beginning, but apart from suggesting that Draco should just take custody of the boy and send Astoria on her way – with enough money of course – he didn't do anything to actively sabotage the marriage."

"Well, it seems that Astoria did an excellent job of that herself." She craned her neck to look at the contents of Severus' cup. "More?" she asked, lifting the coffee pot.

"Half a cup, thanks. Whether you call it a challenge or a problem, though, the heart of the matter is that three people, who have only just agreed to live together, have now taken over care of a young and by no means uncomplicated child. It's not going to make things any easier, is all I'm saying."

"But considerably more fun, I daresay." Another strawberry made its way into her mouth; Severus looked at it with a certain degree of envy. "Besides, Scorpius gives us a common goal. A focus, if you will – we can't just let things slide. We'll have to make the relationship work in order to give him a stable, harmonious home. And I get a Kneazle into the bargain. If that's not an incentive, I don't know what is."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure whether Bella is sufficient compensation for Scorpius intruding on our, well, activities."

"He's a clever boy, Severus, and astonishingly undamaged by the whole mess. Trust me, it won't take him more than a few weeks to understand that he won't have to spend hours alone in his room, with nobody to keep him company but Bella and his elf. Besides, we're going to give him something to do, challenge him – school evidently isn't enough for him, or he wouldn't have, uh, borrowed Draco's wand and old textbooks. He'll be neither bored nor starved for company, so I guess he'll soon discover that a few hours in the nursery with Bella are something to be treasured." Severus made a noncommittal noise. "You're aware, though," she continued, "that a certain red-headed mischief-maker will be joining the company from time to time?"

Severus shrugged. "Since I won't have to teach him, I suppose I'll cope." He chuckled into his coffee. "Not to mention that he'll be mortally afraid of both Lucius and me – just imagine the horror stories his father's been telling him."

"Afraid? For all of five minutes," Hermione countered dryly. "Once he realizes what a pair of big softies you two are when it comes to Scorpius, that'll change. Believe me."

An incredulous eyebrow climbed slowly towards Severus' hairline. "Did you just refer to Lucius and me as softies."

"Yep." She fished for another strawberry. "Not alluding to any body parts, mind you. Even though I have yet to see any of them, more's the pity."

"You've seen them all. Both sets I might add, not without a slight note of pique."

"Ancient history. I definitely need to refresh my memory."

"The cuddling was very nice, too," Severus said piously.

"I, for one, prefer to cuddle _after_ having screamed my head off in ecstasy, not instead." She shot him a lecherous look. "Funny, I don't recall bananas being served for breakfast – how on earth did one get into your pocket?"

"Cheap, Granger. Very, very, cheap and totally beneath you."

"You know me well enough to be aware that almost nothing is beneath me. Except, of course, in certain situations" – the tip of her tongue caressing the strawberry made it perfectly clear which situation she was alluding to, and Severus uttered something that, coming from a lesser man, might have been called a squeak – "where I prefer to come out on top. Not to mention coming first. And not quietly, in case you were wondering."

Severus, wearing a rather pained expression, shifted in his chair. "You're going to pay for this. With interest."

"Oh, I'm willing to pay, the sooner the better. Was that spell Lucius mentioned real, or did he just make it up?"

With a sigh, Severus drew his wand and cast a mild Deflating Spell on his nether regions. "That was a perfectly good erection… Oh, well. What spell, Hermione?"

"The one he mentioned last night, which his uncle Frivolus created for his, uh, demoiselles."

"Oh, that. That's perfectly real."

"Mmmh." Hermione filched the last strawberry right from under his fingers and pensively nibbled the tip before eating it with relish. "I suppose I'm going to lose my membership card for the Great Sisterhood of Women Who Celebrate Their Periods and Are One with Nature, but I'll ask Lucius to cast it. I really don't see any reason to wait if I don't have to."

"Really?" Severus leaned forward, all eagerness. "So we could… Bugger, we'll have to wait till tonight, what with everything that's going on. Never mind, we'll simply look at it as a treat for solving the pesky problem of the marriage that's not going to happen but will be attended by three hundred guests."

"Oh, I figured that one out already."

"You did? When?"

"It somehow came to me while I was working on turning you back. Probably because you were such a cute little floppy-eared thing."

"Careful, Granger."

"Still fancying that carrot cake, Snape?"

"I'd rather go for some… cunning stunt, if you get my drift."

"And you call my bad puns cheap?"

"Takes one to know one."

"Indeed. So do you want to acquaint yourself with my cunning… plan?"

"Merlin, yes," he said fervently. "Oh, you said plan. Right. Yes, please tell me all about it."

oooo


	13. Chapter 13

"This time it'll be me, and not the house, casting the Locking Spells," Hermione said as she closed the library door after Narcissa, Neville and herself. "And _Muffliato_, because this has to stay completely secret."

The two made themselves comfortable on the sofa and glanced at her expectantly.

"What have you been cooking up, then?" Neville asked. "It must be good, because you're looking terribly smug."

"It_ is_ rather good. Even Lucius said so, and coming from the Master Plotter that's quite a compliment. We didn't want to make people suspicious; otherwise all three of us would've told you."

Narcissa gave her a calculating look. "I must say, I find that rather intriguing – referring to Draco and Astoria as 'people' seems a trifle odd, but the way you are saying 'all three of us' gives me reason to think that you may have decided to enter into a, let us say, unusual arrangement."

"Including Draco wouldn't have been a problem per se," Hermione said. "Astoria, on the other hand, is part of the plan. But you're right – maybe I ought first to bring you up to date on the latest developments."

Both Neville and Narcissa were suitably shocked to learn that Astoria's maternal instincts weren't far superior to those of an Acromantula, and obviously pleased with the news about the domestic arrangements the trio was envisaging.

Neville, to whom Hermione's decision to solve her which-wizard-to-choose dilemma through the application of basic shoe-shopping tactics was literally yesterday's news, was enthusiastic about their plans regarding Scorpius. "And we can come to visit as often as we want to," he said, taking Narcissa's hand. "That's going to be much easier, not to mention nicer, if he lives here."

Narcissa gave a delicate, ladylike snort. "One big, happy family," she said, but it somehow lacked venom.

"Well if you think about it," Hermione pointed out, "we are a family. Sort of. The Muggles have a word for it: patchwork family. It happens quite a lot, and doesn't work too badly, if everybody makes an effort. I have to say that I feel really bad for Astoria, but if only half of what Scorpius told us is true, she doesn't deserve any better."

"Do you think Draco is going to divorce her?" Neville asked.

"I'm not sure. Lucius went off all by himself to play the big, fearsome patriarch and talk to him, so all I know is hearsay. I've never seen him so angry – in recent times I mean – I guess it was partly directed at himself, because he'd failed to realize how badly Astoria has been neglecting the child. Just imagine, it would've continued like this, if Scorpius hadn't accidentally turned Severus into a rabbit this morning."

The story of how Severus had come to be a rabbit, nibbled the corners off Lucius' favourite silk pillowcases and finally marked his territory – in the manner of all male rabbits – by contemporarily widdling and high-speed-wagging his tail, was told in detail and relished by all parties involved. Neville found the fact that Severus, while in rabbit form (and probably not only then), regarded Hermione and Lucius as his territory particularly amusing.

When the mood had again become sober, Narcissa asked, "And Draco simply agreed to Scorpius staying here at the Manor?" She shook her head. "Lucius keeps saying, or rather kept saying while we were still talking to each other, that Draco had recovered so well from past events. I never shared this opinion. I'm sure Draco loves his son, but he is incapable of showing it in a rational way – as Astoria told me, one day he smothers him with affection, and the next ten he doesn't even remember he has a child. Which of course is still preferable to what you told us about Astoria practically leaving care of the boy to a House Elf. A paid elf, no less."

"If taking Scorpius in was Lucius' idea," Neville said, "I don't quite understand why you said it was your plan, Hermione."

"Oh no! No, that was the bringing you up to date on events part. The Plan, with a capital P, is mine. And it's going to be fun. It's about the wedding," Hermione whispered, leaning forward conspiratorially.

"We don't want to step in," Neville said hastily, taking Narcissa's hand. "We talked about it – it would've been nice if we could've helped you out, but neither of us wants a grand ceremony, and even if we had one, we'd rather invite people we like."

"That wasn't at all what I had in mind." Hermione grinned at them in turn. "Nice of you to consider it, though. No, my idea is completely different, and if it goes according to plan, we'll be helping Luna and getting one over on Skeeter as well."

"Your arch-enemy," Narcissa said. "And mine, for the record. I know that Lucius was behind it, but she could have refused to drag me through the dirt. For Lucius it was personal; _she_ merely wanted the money and fame."

"I'm very glad we see eye to eye. Now listen: as I said, Astoria will be playing a crucial part in this, but she mustn't know. What with her love for gossiping, she would've been perfect in any case. But Lucius had words with her last night before dinner-"

"Words, huh?" Neville gave her a lopsided grin. "The way she behaved during dinner, he must've come down on her like a ton of bricks."

"The way he told us about it, I guess that's a polite understatement. He called it 'light pruning'."

"That," Narcissa said archly, "translates into 'viciously slicing her up into tiny bits and stamping on them'. He did try that one on me a few times, with barely any success."

Neville tried not to look terribly proud and failed, earning himself an indulgent frown and a kiss.

"That's about what I guessed," said Hermione. "So now she holds a grudge. Mostly against Lucius, but I bet her feelings towards Severus and me aren't much friendlier. Neither she nor Draco knows that the wedding isn't going to happen. So you, Narcissa – you're on more or less friendly terms with her, aren't you?"

"I don't really know her, so I would say polite, nothing more."

"That's perfectly fine. We need you to tell her, confidentially of course, because that's the magic word that pushes the gossip button, how unhappy you are about the most important day of your life being covered only by Longbottom and Granger, for _The Quibbler_, no less, which is as good as if Lucius had slapped your face. You've pleaded time and again, but he stubbornly refuses to invite Rita Skeeter, who really is the only one who could do it justice. He's doing it out of spite, needless to say – feel free to elaborate."

"So I probably ought to mention as well," Narcissa said slowly, "that it would be a dreadful blow to his overgrown ego, should Skeeter actually show up..."

"That would certainly help. Considering what we're planning, I would advise against explicitly asking her to contact Skeeter on your behalf, but I'm sure that with the right hints-"

"Oh, you can leave that to me." Narcissa leaned back and started playing with her pearl necklace. "Trust me, I'll spin her a credible tale."

"I have every confidence in your abilities. The important part is, however, that Skeeter mustn't get to witness the main event. What's paramount to our plan succeeding is that, firstly, she arrives about an hour before it starts, so she'll be able to take lots of nice pictures of the Happy Couple, maybe also Draco and Astoria. And not-so-nice ones of me, of course. I'm already rehearsing my jealous glare."

"You don't have to rehearse much, darling" Neville commented. "It was pretty impressive last time I saw it, believe me."

Hermione blushed and shot a sideways look at Narcissa, who was smiling blandly. "Erm, thanks for the compliment. Where was I? Ah, yes. Lots of pictures. After that, we'll allow her to sneak around a bit among the guests, gathering gossip – well, the usual, really. I'll be using our old DA coins to call Lucius, who'll do a very credible impression of discovering her and throwing her out, and her photographer as well of course. Exit Skeeter, end of Act One."

"Why, Miss _Granger_, that's positively _Slytherin_," Neville said in a sing-song voice.

"Thanks again, Neville. The pivotal point on which my plan rests is Skeeter's, well let's call it ambition: she wants that exclusive, and she's going to write the full story of the wedding, never mind that she wasn't there to witness it. I suppose we can count on that, don't you think?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Narcissa said. "Besides, she'll have the satisfaction of spiting Lucius, so nothing less than a ten-page Sunday supplement will do. If that's the only weak point in your plan, you don't have to worry."

"That's what I thought, too. And now comes your part, Neville: since Rita's story is going to appear in the _Sunday Prophet_, you have to convince Luna to have a special edition of _The Quibbler_ out by Sunday evening. Do you think she'll agree?"

"If I swear to her that it's going to be sold out by Monday noon, and I have no doubts about that, she certainly will."

"Good. You have already taken some pictures, haven't you? Okay. You're going to take a lot more while Lucius – or Severus and Narcissa – announces that there isn't going to be a wedding after all."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not that good at photographing people."

"That's not true, darling," Narcissa objected. "The pictures you took yesterday of Scorpius are phenomenally good."

"Yes, but he's a child. Children are easier – they show you their true face."

"Believe me," Narcissa said, taking his hand, "you'll be getting a lot of true faces the moment Lucius tells them there isn't going to be a wedding. Surprise and disappointment always tear the masks off people's faces, especially when they're happy and relaxed."

"Still, I'm much better at photographing faeces than faces. Sorry, Herbologist humour. I'll do it, of course, but don't expect too much."

"It'll be fine, Neville," Hermione said. "Lucius, Severus and I will be writing the text, and we can owl the complete package to Luna, say, Sunday around noon. And then we wait for the bomb to go off."

"But…" Neville frowned. "You're taking a big risk here – the wedding, I mean the reception, starts at seven. I suppose Lucius won't be making the big announcement before eight, eight thirty, so she has to be removed from the premises a little before eight, right? So she leaves in a huff, Apparates home and starts writing. An hour later, tops, three hundred people will have heard the news – not that Skeeter is everybody's darling, but people like to gossip, so what if one of the guests contacts her? If that happens, your plan falls apart."

"He's got a point," Narcissa said.

"He has, but it's been taken care of. Since people don't usually go to parties carrying owls, we can exclude any of the guests owling her – there won't be any Malfoy owls forthcoming, of course. Due to a deplorable glitch in the Floo network, all Floo communication from the Manor will be temporarily diverted to the fireplace of a deaf little old lady in Sidney, who on top of being deaf will also be asleep. A similar glitch may or may not occur at Skeeter's house and at the _Daily Prophet_'s headquarters."

"Someone's got excellent connections," Neville commented, grinning. "I would never have thought the day would come when I'd actually appreciate it. Still, people can Apparate or send a Patronus."

"Oh no, they can't," Narcissa said. "Pureblood etiquette, stifling though it may be, does have its perks from time to time. It is absolutely de rigueur on occasions like this to hand over one's wand to the House Elves upon arrival. No-one would even dream of doing otherwise. Of course the rule applies to the host as well, but I suppose that in this particular case there might be the odd exception?"

"Very odd", Hermione confirmed, not quite succeeding in keeping a straight face. "I didn't know about that rule, either," she hastened to reassure Neville, who was looking a little embarrassed. "Lucius explained to me that it was introduced at the end of the eighteenth century – people, I mean both wizards and Muggles, used to fight duels a lot back then, and not just over important stuff like a lady's honour. Any disagreement was settled by means of duelling, and with the epic feasts and celebrations they used to have back then, people starting to duel in the middle of a big crowd would've been too dangerous."

Neville nodded. "Okay, so I guess nobody will be getting their wands back for a long time, am I right?"

"Precisely. She's got to finish the piece by eleven at the latest, because they dispatch the copies to the post offices before midnight. Owl delivery starts as soon as the copies have arrived – if the wedding had been scheduled for any other day than Saturday, we wouldn't have been so lucky. As things are, the _Prophet_'s staff will be enjoying their well-earned day of rest starting exactly at midnight, so even if one of the guests sends a Patronus to Skeeter sometime after midnight, she doesn't stand a chance of the paper being recalled – the Floo problem is scheduled to last till around three."

Narcissa got up and started pacing. "I can see only one flaw in an otherwise perfect scheme. Or maybe I should say potential flaw." Arms crossed, she leaned against the backrest of the sofa. "Skeeter is going to be furious – not that I wouldn't be delighted to make her the laughing stock of every wizard and witch in England, but you are going to take in Scorpius, and your domestic arrangements will be, as I said, a little unusual. Can you even begin to imagine what she's going to make of that? I have no doubt as to you, Lucius and Severus easily weathering the scandal, but the boy? He goes to school – just think of what his fellow pupils will put him through."

"We took that into account as well. And it's really the icing on the cake – she won't be out for our blood, after all, but Astoria's. Or do you think that she's going to believe even for a moment that Astoria didn't know? Never mind how hard she'll try to convince Skeeter that she had no idea, Skeeter's going to try anything to hurt her. She'll start sniffing after her, and…"

"And I suppose Lucius has enough dirt on her to fill an entire special edition of the_ Prophet_, correct?" Neville finished the sentence with a beatific smile. "And Skeeter is going to blow it up as much as possible, so people will have something to gossip about, other than how stupid we made her look – so anything else concerning the family probably won't be much more than a footnote. I'm almost inclined to pity Astoria. Almost."

"Never cross a Malfoy," Narcissa said, her smile decidedly more on the vulpine side. "The family motto" – she gestured towards the coat-of-arms above the fireplace – "is, after all, '_Prenez Garde_'. So simple, but so very true. As many have found out over the centuries. But what about Draco?"

"I wouldn't worry too much about him," Hermione said. "As far as I can judge it, he loves his son – Astoria is merely some kind of accessory he's grown tired of. When the story breaks, he'll be quick to distance himself from her."

Narcissa sat back down next to Neville. "I'm sorry for him," she said, leaning into the arm Neville put around her shoulders. "He had to grow up far too quickly – I know you all had to, but he is my son..."

"He'll be much better off without Astoria," Neville spoke softly into her hair. "I mean, he got married so young, and not because he truly wanted it. It was all about the family's reputation... We got closer right before Scorpius was born, and I remember how frazzled he was, and how he was always doubting everything he did. He'll have time now to catch up with himself, so to speak, and figure out his own life without having to worry about Scorpius."

"If you put it like that..." She smiled up at him. "And now I'd better hurry – I'm sure Astoria has another headache and would be most grateful for a cool compress and some motherly advice."

"Gods, she's marvellous," Neville breathed when the door had closed behind Narcissa. "Clever, and sweet and wicked... I'm the luckiest guy on earth."

"I think Lucius and Severus would challenge that claim," Hermione said. "Speaking of them – I'll go and find them now. We've got to create a scintillating piece of journalism, after all."

"And shag like bunnies," Neville added, blue eyes wide and innocent.

"You're one to talk. Scorpius told us he'd walked in on you and Narcissa earlier this morning, before his surprise visit to our bedroom."

Neville shrugged. "Why wait? Thanks to the Manor and its little tricks neither of us had any doubts about our feelings… May I ask you a question?"

"Gods give me strength!"

"I'm just curious – the two of them, do they, I mean, do they..." He blushed and fell silent.

"To tell you the truth, I don't have the faintest idea."

"What? You mean you haven't... But, _why_?"

"_Lots_ of things to do, darling," Hermione trilled. "Got to dash, sorry!" And she exited the library as fast as dignity and high heels would allow her.

oooo

Much to her surprise Lucius was sitting alone in his study, bent over a roll of parchment and scribbling furiously. "Hi, Lucius." She squeezed between him and the edge of his desk, to sit on his lap and savour a very thorough kiss. "Where's Severus?"

"I'm not sure," Lucius said mock-sternly, "whether I approve of you enquiring after Severus the moment you extricate your tongue from my mouth."

"I'm not sure whether I actually care if you do, darling," she replied sweetly. "But I promise to do the same to Severus as soon as an opportunity presents itself." They shared another, smiling kiss. "Better now?"

"Marginally. To answer your question, he went off to see how Draco is coping. How did the meeting with Narcissa and Longbottom go?"

"Just as we'd hoped. Narcissa already went to talk to Astoria, under the pretext of soothing her aching brow with a cool compress. Upon which she intends to open her heart to her daughter-in-law – I think she's going to enjoy painting your portrait all in black at least as much as duping Skeeter. You know, I'm a little surprised, because I'm beginning to quite like her. Neville seems to bring out the best – Lucius, if you keep doing that, I'm going to suffocate."

Heedless of her protests, he tightened his embrace. "I love you." His hands on her shoulders, he leaned back to scrutinize her face. "You're turning me into in an insufferably soppy puddle of affection, but I have to admit that it feels sort of liberating being able to say it out aloud for once."

"Have you" – she let a silky strand of blond hair glide through her fingers – "have you been saying it a lot in your mind?"

"Like a mantra." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Last night..."

"I wasn't asleep." Hermione kissed the tip of his nose. "I heard you both. Very soppy indeed, but also very endearing. Which reminds me – I'd like you to cast that spell you mentioned last night."

Lucius's gaze turned from affectionate to predatory in a fraction of a second. "Really?" he growled.

"Uh-huh, I think so. I feel like celebrating tonight, with the two of you and lots of champagne and strawberries, and maybe there will be pralines – you know the ones I like, the ones Cissy makes with the buttery truffle cream..." She yelped when Lucius gave her breast a rough squeeze and bit her neck. "And," she continued a little breathlessly, "it would be a pity, wouldn't it, if things couldn't progress... naturally." She wiggled her bum a bit, and Lucius buried his face in her neck with a groan.

"If you make me come in my trousers, I swear I'll never forgive you."

"Show a little restraint, then. It's character-building, I'm sure." Hermione insinuated a hand between her thigh and the considerable bulge in Lucius' trousers; taking advantage of his head resting on her shoulder, she gently sucked his earlobe. "Should I tell you what I'm going to do to you tonight?" she whispered, careful to keep her lips close to his ear.

A shudder ran through Lucius, and he raised his head to look into her eyes. "Now you've done it, you..." He drew his wand and cast _Evanesco_ and a Cleansing Spell, quickly followed by Uncle Frivolus' creation. "There shall be no mercy tonight," he said silkily. "Remarks about showing restraint cannot go unpunished, I'm sure you understand. In the meantime" – he bent sideways and opened the topmost desk drawer, from which he pulled a small, flat box garnished with a silk bow through which a dark red rose had been threaded – "you will allow me to give you this. I suggest you wear it tonight. Severus helped me choose it earlier on, so you can be certain it will please both of us."

"And of course pleasing both of you equally is the most noble and important goal I could possibly hope to achieve," she retorted, smiling, as she slid off his knees. "Thanks, Lucius. I like gifts. Do you think Scorpius has already recovered from your daredevil flying stunts? Because I think I'd like to get him started with his Charms training – it's never too early."

"Perfect," Lucius whispered to himself, as the door closed behind her.

oooo


	14. Chapter 14

The night is cool against the Manor's walls. The human beings it protects are warming it from the inside with their complex emotions, which are as many-layered and intricate as the bodies in which they live. Love, an emotion the Manor can perceive but not feel, is a complicated filigree, its subtle variations infinite. A pulsing, ever-shifting spider's web, it hovers between those who sleep and dream and love, and the Manor draws strength from it, feeds it into the magic that thrums in its foundations.

The Manor has not had such a feast in a long time, so it gorges itself on love, lets it seep into every brick, every tiniest crevice, lets it fill every empty space. The Manor feels itself solidify; it reaches down into the bedrock, rooting itself more firmly to the ground.

oooo

The _Amor Brujo_, a full-rigged Spanish merchant, was listing badly; solid but heavy and slow, she'd stood no chance against the pirates' sleek, deadly fast sloop. Her cannons were useless, her sails shot to tatters, and a fire had broken out on the front deck.

"That's not fair!" Hermione protested. "You should've told me that there was lamp oil in that barrel!" She kicked Severus' shin; the ensuing wave caused the sloop to capsize.

Watching them fondly, Lucius chuckled. "You'll get the hang of it soon enough. In the meantime, just lean back and enjoy our new, improved bathtub. The Manor has been most obliging, I must say."

"I hope it has soundproofed the walls," Severus said. "This young lady" – he made a grab for Hermione's waist and pulled her close – "has been surprisingly vocal."

"This young lady is glad to be in the water, because her legs would probably not be able to carry her if she tried to walk. Don't smirk, Lucius – I was on my own, while the two of you could share the work between you. If we continue like this, you'll probably outlive me, despite the age difference." She yawned, slightly cross-eyed. "I don't know how I'm going to survive today. We can't have slept more than, what, two hours total."

Severus Banished the ships to a shelf on which more of Scorpius' toys were neatly aligned and manoeuvred a feebly struggling Hermione so that she ended up straddling him. His left arm slid around her waist and his right hand between her legs. "When in the throes of a bad hangover," he murmured into her ear, "hardened drinkers often find that some hair of the dog that bit them, as the saying goes, makes them feel much better."

"I wouldn't refer to myself as hardened… Oh!"

"Unlike some of us," Severus pointed out, perfectly happy for once to be stating the obvious.

"Severus, I really don't think-"

"That's right, darling," Lucius said, moving in behind her. "Thinking is so passé – at moments like this, just feeling is much, much more satisfactory."

A long while later, the two wizards were fondly watching their exhausted witch's slumber and having a very late breakfast in bed, clad only in pyjama bottoms.

"That Earmuff Charm is quite clever," Lucius remarked, while topping a piece of muffin with a spoonful of jam.

"I created it for Narcissa's sake – she's such a light sleeper."

"I know," Lucius said. "She used to be my wife, you see. I ought to have thought of inventing this charm myself. It would have spared me many a tiresome argument."

"Precisely my point." Severus grinned and snatched another croissant. "You know, looking back from where we are now, I can't believe I actually proposed to her."

"Something else we have in common, old chap. To be perfectly honest, though-"

"Careful, Lucius. Unaccustomed activity of any kind may be dangerous at your age."

"Oh, ha-ha. Fancy a carrot, Snape?"

Severus stared pointedly at the waistband of Lucius' trousers. "Come to think of it, why not?" He had the pleasure of seeing Lucius blush ever so slightly.

"All this male bonding brings out an unexpectedly infantile side of your character, Severus. I would suggest, however, that we discuss the arrangements regarding sex _à deux_ with Hermione before indulging in them."

They looked fondly at the sleeping witch and then at each other; both opened their mouths to comment on the other's completely besotted expression, thought better of it and pretended nothing had happened, both filing the information away for later use.

"So, Narcissa and Longbottom, huh?" Lucius said after a while.

"So it seems. They mean to travel, and later on settle down and have a bunch of children."

"She will be a good mother to them," Lucius said. "She would've been a good mother to Draco, as a matter of fact, if only I had let her have her way." His expression suddenly sombre, he intently studied the gold-and-green pattern running along the rim of his cup.

"I'm sure we all wish you'd done a better job being his father, most of all Draco." Severus put a soothing hand on Lucius' shoulder. "I know it sounds horribly callous, but it _is_ water under the bridge. He's forgiven you – not that that lessens your regrets, I know. But at least he allowed you, well us, to take in Scorpius, so that's your chance to make up for past mistakes. Short of actually undoing what you've done, that's the best you can ask for."

Lucius frowned. "Don't you want to have children with Hermione? I know that I do."

"Isn't it a bit early for that kind of discussion?"

"I think not. While I agree that it's a bit early for actually having them, it is only fair to declare our intentions, all three of us."

"What if Hermione says no?"

"If she does, I'll have to accept it, but I sincerely hope she'll consider it. This house" – Lucius gestured with the butter knife – "is made for a large family. My fortune, or now I should rather say our fortune, is sufficient for ten heirs, even though the Manor will go to Draco and, after him, to Scorpius. You're being strangely reticent on the topic, though."

It was silent for a while; then an indignant peacock took screeching flight down on the front lawn – Bella had a knack for ambushing them – and Severus flinched.

"Sickle for them?" Lucius said, nudging him with his elbow.

Turning to face him, Severus smiled and shook his head. "Not even you could afford the price, my friend. I was thinking that, for the first time in my life, I feel that I'm home. Here with you, with Hermione, I've found my place, and when you ask me whether I want to have a child, or children, I don't feel the need to bite your head off, but find myself actually contemplating the possibility. It's really quite staggering."

Lucius nodded. "If you ask me, it's nothing short of a miracle. I mean, two days ago there were eight more or less unhappy people in this house, and now…" He sighed. "I wish things had worked out better between Draco and Astoria, much though I dislike the woman. That would have been…" He let the sentence hang unfinished and stared out of the window.

"The perfect ending you only get in fairy tales. Eight people – one happy couple, one happy family, one happy _ménage à trois_. Like three scoops of vanilla ice cream, perfectly arranged in a bowl, never melting. As things are, we've at least got one happy couple, one happy threesome and one very happy little boy. Or he will be, once we tell him."

"Speaking of scoops," Lucius said, "it seems that my hopefully soon-to-be-ex daughter-in-law has already contacted Rita – there has been a suspicious dearth of owls bearing badly concealed attempts at blackmail."

"She was very smug last night at dinner," Severus said, "Not that you would've noticed, busy as you were casting highly illegal charms at the lady of our hearts."

"I did notice, and interpret her smugness correctly, I'll have you know. Besides, the Cunnilingus Charm is definitely not illegal."

"But highly effective." Both men snickered. "I don't think that there has ever been a worse attempt at faking a cough in the whole history of mankind."

"Except maybe the time when Voldemort told you that Pettigrew was to stay at Spinner's End. I don't know about him, but I distinctly heard the 'Oh, fuck!' under that cough."

"I daresay he didn't, or I wouldn't be sitting here with you. It's late, by the way. We ought to go and see what Scorpius is up to – not that I expect it to be anything he's actually allowed to do – and then get ready for our big night."

They both moved off the bed carefully, so as not to wake Hermione.

"This is… rather domestic," Lucius observed.

"Very. But I wouldn't go as far as claiming that the thought of an infinite number of such days evokes any feelings of revulsion."

"Now who's the Hufflepuff," Lucius said, and deftly ducked a muffin that hit the mirror instead of his head and promptly exploded into myriad greasy crumbs.

oooo

Everything had been planned, choreographed and rehearsed to within an inch of its life; Hermione was fretting slightly, but mostly out of habit. She couldn't help remembering how badly wrong another carefully planned action had gone about ten years ago – not that there actually was any comparison between her, Ron and Harry sneaking into the Ministry of Magic under the disguise of Polyjuice, and the intrigue she'd devised for tonight together with Severus and Lucius; the blind terror she'd felt back then had left its indelible traces, though.

A glass of champagne would probably work wonders for her frazzled nerves, she thought longingly, but she needed her wits about her. The champagne would come later, and there would be lots of it, and as much chocolate as she wanted. And more sex. She absentmindedly massaged her sore inner-thigh muscles, smiling in spite of the dull ache. She'd paid higher prices for much less pleasurable experiences…

Reminiscing about last night had the distinct advantage of pushing away the bad memories, but it almost made her late. Hermione gave her reflection in the floor-length mirror one last look, firmly told herself that she didn't mind not being as beautiful as Narcissa, and made sure that her miniaturized, Disillusioned wand was safely attached to her right pinkie finger. The charmed Galleon was reassuringly cool against her fingertips; barring any unforeseeable occurrences, everything would be going exactly according to plan. Hermione left to collect Scorpius from the nursery.

There was a short delay – Kneazle hair was extremely difficult to get off velvet, but fortunately Hermione remembered the spell she'd found in her third year at Hogwarts for dealing with Crookshanks' copious shedding – and then the two of them made their way towards the stairs.

"You do remember what we told you this afternoon, don't you?" Hermione had been a little doubtful of letting Scorpius participate in the festivities tonight of all nights; both Lucius and Severus had assured her, though, that the boy was well able to follow instructions and would certainly do so on this momentous occasion, provided they impressed on him the importance of being discreet for once.

"I'm not to answer any questions, except from you, Granddad and Uncle Severus. If somebody asks me how I am, I should only tell them unimportant things, like that I'm enjoying the holidays but looking forward to school starting again. Whippy will be taking me back to my room at eight, and that's final." He stopped and looked up at Hermione. "Will you really come and talk to me later? I know you have more important things to do, but…" He shuffled his feet. "It would be nice."

"Of course I will," Hermione said and squeezed his hand. "I promised, didn't I? I'll come and see you around half-nine, and we'll have Cissy bring us a late-night snack, and then you'll brush your teeth and go to bed."

Scorpius nodded, and they started to descend the stairs. "I don't think anybody will be talking to me anyway," he remarked. "The grown-ups aren't very interested in children, mostly. I mean, Mum and Dad aren't, so why would anybody else be?"

"Maybe the guests aren't so very interested in you as a person," Hermione pointed out, "But they might be very curious about things you could tell them, things not meant for them. That's why you shouldn't tell them anything." She didn't feel like defending his parents – neither of them deserved it, in her opinion. "Oh, look, the first guests have arrived already."

Scorpius' grip around her left hand tightened. "Could I… could I stay with you?"

"If you like – won't you be bored? I'll have to talk to people, you know, and it's mostly going to be small talk and work-related things."

"Did Granddad and Uncle Severus have a very important talk with you, too? About being discreet and not telling people things?"

"No," Hermione said laughing, "it's just what grown-ups do at parties. I don't like it very much, either. Oh, hello Luna!"

"Hi, Hermione. Your aura is looking very good today – lots of pink. Are you happy? I thought you'd be quite sad tonight. Or did things work out between you and Neville?"

Biting back a comment on Luna's misguided attempts at matchmaking – why hadn't she realized right away that this was what her friend had in mind? – Hermione merely replied, "No, not really. But don't worry, I'm feeling quite chipper tonight. This is Scorpius, by the way. Scorpius, this is Luna Lovegood, owner and editor-in-chief of _The Quibbler_ and a very dear friend of mine."

Scorpius released her hand to shake Luna's and sketched a bow. "How do you do." With a sideways glance up at Hermione, he added, "I like your earrings. It's okay to say that, right?" His hand darted back between Hermione's fingers.

"Perfectly," Hermione reassured him. "And you're right, Luna's earrings are very… interesting. What are they made of, Luna?" She peered at the white discs dangling from Luna's earlobes.

"These? They protect me from Invisible Blinkbusters." Scorpius opened his mouth, but Hermione gave his hand a warning squeeze, so he remained silent and looked expectantly up at Luna. "I tried putting butter in my ears," Luna continued, "but that's a little unpleasant, especially when it starts to leak out and on your shoulders. So I decided that using the bottoms of Muggle-made yoghurt pots would be almost as effective – they don't like lactose, you see. Oh, there's Professor Flitwick! I have to go and talk to him."

Scorpius stood rooted to the spot, staring after her with wide blue eyes. "Is she… is she crazy?"

"Not crazy, no. She merely perceives reality in a slightly different way than the others. You'd be surprised at how tough she can be if she puts her mind to it."

"I guess I would," he said. "Where are Grandma and Uncle Severus?"

"Let's go find them, shall we? And I suppose we could both do with a drink."

"Can I have a cocktail?" Scorpius asked hopefully.

"I don't think so, young man. But we're both going to have some of Cissy's fabulous iced lemonade." She waved a floating tray towards them. "Here you are. And now we'll roam the gardens for a bit – most people are out there, I guess."

"Who's the big black man Granddad is talking to?"

They were standing at the top of the front staircase, and Hermione did a quick scan of the gardens – there was Rita Skeeter all right, speaking to Andromeda Tonks behind one of the seven-feet-high hedges Lucius had had the foresight to conjure and position in strategic places (pretending not to see Skeeter on an unadorned front lawn would have been a little difficult). Neville was discreetly taking pictures, and Severus and Narcissa were standing next to the spot where the guests were being deposited every five seconds by the Portkeys they'd received together with their invitations; House Elves swiftly guided them to greet the Happy Couple after they'd handed over their wands. Skeeter's photographer was conducting an intense dialogue with a glass of whisky; to judge by his slight swaying, he'd already had a lot of similar conversations.

"That's Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic," Hermione explained. "And the witch over there, in the dark green tartan robes, that's Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts. The man she's talking to is Junius Whitcomb, the Supreme Mugwump."

"The Headmistress of Hogwarts?" Scorpius stood on tiptoes. "She looks very strict."

"Well she is. But she's also very nice. She used to be my favourite teacher."

"What? Why wasn't Uncle Severus your favourite teacher? He can be strict, too, but he's very, very nice, really."

"Not back when he used to teach Potions, believe me. Oh, look, the musicians have arrived – would you like to go and have a look?"

But Scorpius wasn't that easily distracted. "What do you mean, he wasn't nice back when he used to teach Potions? Maybe you were a dunderhead – he doesn't like dunderheads, you know."

A scathing retort was on the tip of Hermione's tongue, but she stopped herself just in time. For all his precocious cleverness, he was just a little boy; also, this wasn't the right moment for discussing the past, and she had no idea how much Scorpius did or didn't know. So she merely said, "I don't think he regarded me as a dunderhead, no. Would you like me to introduce you to Headmistress McGonagall?"

"I don't know – do you think she'll like me?"

"I'm sure she will. She used to be my Transfiguration teacher, so why don't you tell her about Lucius' letter opener?"

"Do I have to tell her about filching Dad's spare wand? Because, if the Mugwump hears about that, he'll probably send me to Azkaban."

How threatening the world must be looking to a child of eight years – Hermione crouched down in front of Scorpius and took both his hands in hers. "Nobody's going to send you to Azkaban, Scorpius. And if they did, don't you think your granddad would come and get you out of there? Not to mention me and Severus – we'd go there immediately, stun all the guards, and take you back to the Manor. Honestly."

"I'm glad you'd come and rescue me. Mum and Dad wouldn't; they'd probably be relieved if I went to Azkaban."

Lucius had treated her and Severus to a short overview of Astoria's misdeeds – without mentioning his sources, but Hermione had her suspicions – and she'd barely been able to believe the amounts of money the woman had been squandering on clothes, shoes, beauty treatments and jewellery. Some of it had come out of Lucius' vault, by way of badly faked signatures on payment orders for Gringotts. (Both Severus and Lucius had been rather amused when she converted the presumable sum total into books and almost fainted with exasperation) There was nothing she could think of to say in the woman's defence, and not much in favour of Draco – sure, he'd had more than his fair share of distress; to see their son, however, calmly taking it for granted that they'd be glad to be shot of him…

She smiled down at Scorpius. "I'm sure they'd come, too. There are lots of guards in Azkaban, you see, and we'd need all the help we could get."

They'd arrived at the spot where McGonagall was standing, and while Hermione was talking to Whitcomb, she overheard snippets of Scorpius' conversation with her former teacher, who was suitably impressed by his prowess with a wand but, after exchanging a look with Hermione, didn't ask how exactly he'd got his hands on it.

Scorpius clung to her for the remainder of the hour he'd been allowed to participate in the festivities and seemed relieved, rather than disappointed, when Whippy arrived to whisk him off to the nursery.

Now she had to find Skeeter, in order to initiate the next stage of their plan; Cissy had reported back already that pictures of Narcissa and Severus had been taken and a lengthy interview conducted before the arrival of the guests, in a secluded corner of the gardens, so that part was taken care of.

With three hundred gaudily dressed people milling around among the hedges and flowerbeds, spotting the witch was no easy task, and not for the first time Hermione cursed her moderate five feet three that allowed her interesting views of shoulders and backs, but made it hard to espy someone in a crowd. Besides, she'd already seen at least three witches decked out in turquoise, so the colour of Rita's dress robes didn't help much, either, since it was beginning to get dark. In the end, she simply pretended to be examining something on the back of her right hand and cast a Point-Me Spell.

Skeeter obviously meant to give the impression that she was just a guest like any other; the infamous Dictoquill was conspicuously absent. When Hermione emerged from behind a hedge, the reporter was talking to Horace Slughorn, whom she abandoned with unseemly haste to make a beeline for Hermione.

Hermione felt eerily reminded of a vulture homing in on a carcass.

"Miss Granger," she said genially and apparently not offended in the least, when Hermione didn't shake her hand but merely stared at the lime-green nails pointing at her like so many poisoned arrows. "What a surprise! I wouldn't have expected to find _you_ among the guests." At least she had the good sense to keep her normally strident voice to a tolerable level; less out of regard for Lucius' wineglasses, Hermione assumed, than for the sake of acoustic camouflage.

"I could say the same, Miss Skeeter. I was under the impression that there wasn't going to be any press coverage." She surreptitiously inserted her right hand into her pocket and tapped the coin with her miniaturized wand, while using her left to guide Skeeter to a more isolated spot a few yards away. The fewer guests witnessed Lucius ejecting her, the better.

Skeeter smiled a sickeningly glutinous smile and moved closer. "Oh, I'm here as a friend of the family – such a relief, really, to be able to enjoy a few hours of carefree pleasure without having to write down everything people say."

Had her eyes not briefly darted left, Hermione wouldn't have noticed the slight distortion in the air above Skeeter's left shoulder. So she'd Disillusioned the ubiquitous quill. Hermione smiled, and Skeeter seemed to take it as encouragement. "What about you, then, my dear," she asked in saccharine tones, "You seem to be holding up very well. That's quite admirable I must say, considering…" She patted Hermione's arm.

"I am doing my best, but thank you for your sympathy. It's hard, really" – she dabbed the corner of her eye, hoping that she wasn't putting it on too thick – "having to witness the love of my life binding himself to another woman, but I'm glad to see him happy. He's gone through so much – he really deserves it."

She needn't have worried; Skeeter was lapping it up. "There are other men out there, my dear, who are worthier of your affections. Or" – she leaned a little closer, making Hermione wish she had gills, so she wouldn't have to breathe the woman's nauseatingly pungent perfume through her nose – "have you perhaps already set your eyes on some eligible wizard? Maybe… Lucius Malfoy is quite the catch, just saying."

Hermione didn't need to fake a blush; the embarrassed giggle wasn't too bad, either. "Oh, I wouldn't presume…"

"And you seem to have made friends already with his grandson Scorpius – very clever, I must say. I hear that the boy is the apple of his-"

"Miss Skeeter." Lucius was standing behind her, looking ravishing – though probably not to the petrified reporter – in anthracite grey dress robes and doing a very convincing impression of an avenging angel swooping down on a demon.

Hermione took a step back.

Neville's camera clicked.

It seemed they'd got themselves an excellent cover photo for _The Quibbler_'s special edition.

oooo


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: The bits in Italics at the end are taken from the Deathly Hallows epilogue.

The front lawn looked like a battlefield; the wind that had picked up and turned after midnight was playing with tattered pieces of decoration, chasing them over the green expanse until they got caught in a hedge or landed on the prone body of a guest too drunk to stand upright, let alone use their Portkey.

Lucius was giving orders to the House Elves: first, any stragglers, whether moving or unmoving, were to be collected and dispatched home, and after that the cleaning was to be undertaken in a timely fashion, so that the Master's sensitive eyes would not be offended once he deigned to open them in the late morning.

When he entered the house, Hermione was just coming down the stairs. She was looking weary but content. "Scorpius is asleep," she said, "and the others have retired to the library for a nightcap and a bit of gossiping."

He held out his arm for her to take. "Let us join them. I am in the mood for watching Astoria play the part of outraged innocence once I mention Skeeter."

"I think she's already outraged out. It was almost painful to watch."

"You don't know her," Lucius said dryly. "By the way, since it won't do to mention it in front of her – what do you think of my clever little idea of ordering the House Elves to increase the potency of the alcoholic beverages?"

Hermione patted his arm. "You already said it was clever, Lucius. Don't look so miffed, it really was, and I'm glad you told us to keep away from them. I don't remember ever seeing so many horrendously drunk people in one place, and that's saying something – I didn't think anything could be worse than after-Quidditch celebrations in the Gryffindor common room. Besides" – she pulled a cream-coloured rose from one of the flower arrangements and handed it to Lucius with a flourish – "I don't think that anybody asked for their wand back before one at the earliest. Which was, I believe, the point, unless you think puddles of vomit decorating the front lawn add a certain _je ne sais quoi_ to the landscape. Poor House Elves," she added.

Lucius snorted. "The _poor_ House Elves are getting a Galleon apiece, and two extra free days. I don't think they would complain, even if they dared to."

"Well that's nice. What-" She jumped and turned, when there was a whooshing sound behind them, followed by a sharp crack.

"I believe," Lucius said, "that the_ Sunday Prophet_ has arrived. Now go ahead, darling, I'll follow in a minute."

"You're looking a bit tired, but could you do the Avenging Angel number again, like you did on Skeeter? You have no idea how much of a turn-on it is." She neatly evaded Lucius' hand patting her bum and made her way to the library.

The doors were massive, but no match for Astoria's voice. Hermione winced, braced herself and entered the room.

"Hullo, darling," Neville greeted her from the depths of an armchair. "Glass of whisky?"

"I'd rather have something smoother," Hermione said, making her way over to the settee Severus was occupying. "Budge over, will you?" She was standing close to him, so his face was shielded from the others; he smiled up at her, and she suddenly felt quite warm.

"Pour her a glass of Lucius' old Armagnac, will you, Longbottom?"

The tumbler zoomed towards her a little faster than she'd expected, but she caught it without spilling the liquor and sat down next to Severus. "Great party," she said, raising the glass.

Astoria, who'd been looking as if she'd swallowed a whole lemon and washed it down with vinegar since Skeeter and the photographer had been evicted from the grounds, sat up and took a deep breath. Here goes, Hermione thought, downed her drink in one go and floated the tumbler back to Neville for a refill. He poured and winked at her.

"I have to say," Astoria continued the harangue which, to judge by the others' pained expressions, had obviously been going on for some time, "that I am deeply –_deeply_ offended by everybody keeping secrets from me and Draco. Why, she" – she pointed at Hermione – "isn't even family!"

Hermione took an appreciative sip of her drink. "Scorpius is fast asleep," she said sweetly, "in case you wanted to know."

"Of course he's fast asleep, though I fail to see how this is any of your business. As I said, you're not even family, and-"

The door opened, and in swooped the Avenging Angel.

Hermione gripped Severus' hand. "I think I've just found another item to add to my list of dirty fantasies," she whispered.

Severus snorted. "Do I dare ask…?"

"One word: detention." She clinked her glass against his and leaned back to contemplate the spectacle – the leopard may have changed his spots, but he still had teeth and knew how to use them to best effect. She wished she could do a bit of Legilimency on Astoria; she had to be frightened out of her wits, since the Avenging Angel did, in fact, have a Flaming Sword, which he now lifted for everybody to Behold. For a moment Hermione thought he was going to Smite Astoria with the _Sunday Prophet_ – he was that good.

"This," Lucius declared in an arctic voice, "is an outrage. If I ever find out who enabled that female to sneak into a private function the exclusive right to which I had decided to give to _The Quibbler_…" He flung the paper down on the floor, went to pour himself a cognac and sat down in his favourite chair. "Now we are going to provide breakfast entertainment for hoi polloi, against my explicit wishes. I must say, I am very disappointed in you, Narcissa and Severus. While I believe your assurances that you did not, in fact, have a hand in Skeeter's intrusion…" He sighed.

"I already told you," Narcissa quipped, voice and demeanour at least as arctic as her former husband's, "that we both thought it was a last-minute surprise – you know how often I had begged you to give the story to Skeeter, and-"

"That, my dear, would indeed be hard to forget. What I don't understand is why you saw fit to pose as the Happy Couple – in a rather sickening way, I might add – even though you had no intention of actually getting married."

"We didn't want to spoil the effect of our announcement, that's why," Severus said. "Or what do you think she would've done if we'd told her right away? Anyway, if you hadn't thrown her out, she would've got the complete story. As things are…" He shrugged elaborately.

Draco, who'd had a little more to drink than was good for him – there had been no way Lucius could have warned him to stay away from the alcoholic drinks without giving away their game – began to chuckle silently.

"May I ask," Lucius addressed him, "what causes you such hilarity, Draco? Maybe you'd like to share – we could all do with a laugh, I daresay."

"Oh, nothing." Draco waved a hand at the newspaper. "I was just thinking… the poor sod who got Skeeter in – maybe she even paid for the privilege… She'll be furious, don't you think? Reporting on a wedding that didn't happen – she's going to look so stupid! 'cause I bet she's written the full story – any takers?" He hiccupped, snorted and continued to giggle into his glass.

Astoria was beginning to look a little green around the gills. When Draco burped softly, she didn't even admonish him to watch his manners, which spoke volumes about her state of mind.

"She's a vengeful bitch all right," Neville pushed the dagger in a little deeper, "But whoever was her accomplice didn't know what was going to happen, right? So it wasn't their fault, really. I mean, none of the guests even knew where their Portkeys were going to take them, so how could they possibly have the faintest idea how the evening was going to play out? Still, I somehow don't think Skeeter's going to see it that way. She won't rest until… Oh, well." He took a sip of his drink. "I'm glad _The Quibbler_ will be on top of things for once. Luna will be so pleased."

"But…" Astoria cleared her throat. "Well, if nobody knew that's… good, I suppose?" She eyed them, one by one, looking for confirmation. None was forthcoming. "Because if nobody… But maybe somebody did know after all. I mean that the wedding wasn't going to take place, don't you think? Then she'd blame that person instead of…" She fell silent, visibly trying to work out which was the better option, and failing. "Maybe a… One of the House Elves, maybe?" she blurted.

Lucius snorted. "Don't be ridiculous!"

"I can assure you that nobody was aware of our decision," Severus said silkily. "Why, even you didn't know, and you're _family_."

Narcissa, who somehow managed to look fresh and rested despite the advanced hour, not to mention stunningly beautiful in her cream-coloured bridal robes, leaned over to pat her daughter-in-law's trembling hand. "Think nothing of it, dear – it was rather a last-minute decision, strange as that may sound. We both had had our doubts, true, but who doesn't. Getting married is a momentous choice after all. When we were getting ready for the ceremony, however…" She smiled at Severus, who inclined his head. "Suffice it to say, we agreed that the doubts were stronger than the eager anticipation and happiness we ought to have felt. The rest, as they say, is history. Unfortunately it was too late to call the whole thing off – I'm sorry by the way, Lucius. That reception must have cost a fortune – of course I am ready to foot the bill."

"Peanuts," Lucius said in lofty tones. "And, apart from the contretemps with Skeeter, it was a very good party indeed. Are you quite all right, Astoria? You are looking a trifle… Unwell?"

"I'm… I guess I am just tired. I'd better go to bed – Draco?"

Draco got to his feet, swaying a little. "Coming, dear. Night, everybody."

"Give our regards to Ms Ethel Spencer of Sidney, Australia," Hermione muttered grimly, eliciting a chuckle from Lucius. "Draco hasn't talked to her yet about Scorpius, has he?" she asked.

"I advised him to leave it till after the festivities," Lucius said. "Knowing Astoria, she would've made a scene of gargantuan proportions. And of course it turned out to be most propitious that she didn't leave, which I suspect might have happened, because we needed her to contact Skeeter."

"Don't make it sound as if you'd planned that," Severus said. "It was mere coincidence."

"I prefer to call it foresight," Lucius countered. "And now I propose that we open a few bottles of the champagne I've been keeping for just such a memorable occasion, and that Narcissa read us select passages of the drivel Rita Skeeter saw fit to tell the world – she does that quite admirably, and it used to make our breakfasts almost pleasant, didn't it my dear?"

oooo

Under a gentle summer rain, the Manor lies dozing. The strength it has recently gathered ebbs and flows back and forth between the roof and foundations. It would last for a long time without running out; for the first time in a long while, though, it is renewed daily by the human beings living, breathing, moving between the Manor's walls.

The Manor reaches out, lazy and content, to engulf its occupants. It feels them live, caresses them.

The rain intensifies, and water seeps down through earth and roots, through tiny channels in the bedrock, down to the Manor's foundations where its magic dwells.

The Manor stretches, like a cat, making the floor boards creak. It may sleep now, for a little while.

oooo

Ten generations of Malfoys were looking down at the family's scion with varying degrees of pride.

The child still left much to be desired as far as dress sense and manners were concerned, but he was already showing signs of uncommon magic power – if there was anything a Malfoy knew how to appreciate in all its manifold nuances, it was power.

He didn't have a wand today – Lucius had confiscated it, which was only right and proper – but he did have a piece of chalk.

The ancestors were impressed; drawing magic circles had been beyond the abilities of more than one among them. They were all holding their breath, waiting for Young Scorpius to initiate the ritual and call forth a few demons. Given most demons' complete disregard of hygiene, table manners and, most of all, family portraits, they hoped that the boy would be able to get rid of whichever denizen of the underworld he was about to summon.

The boy bent down and started drawing.

The forefathers craned their necks and stared, some of them so hard they were cross-eyed.

The boy was drawing… not quite a circle. Rather… a quadrangle? And another one on top of it?

Looks of utter cluelessness were being exchanged. What on earth was the child doing? Another quadrangle, flanked by another two – Merlin's scraggly beard, was the boy drawing a blueprint for a _church_? Cluelessness morphed into horrified indignation; even the most aloof forebears had become cross-eyed once Scorpius had finished drawing.

The silence in the portrait gallery became tomb-like.

The child was now standing on one foot. Now it skipped right into the first quadrangle – what kind of ritual was he performing?

Not many ancestors felt strong enough to keep their eyes open, because now the child started chanting.

The words weren't exactly what they'd been expecting, though – there was no trace of Hebrew, no Greek, and Latin was also conspicuously absent, not to mention Sanskrit or Aramaic…

Scorpius was playing hopscotch, happily absorbed in his game and singing to himself, "I did it – it was all me – I did it – I made it all happen – I did it!"

oooo

In her office overlooking the quiet end of Diagon Alley, Luna Lovegood was sitting at her desk. It had started to rain, and she went to open the window to let in the cool, earth-scented breeze, sure in the knowledge that her cunningly crafted earrings would fend off any Invisible Blinkbusters attempting to crawl into her ears and from there to penetrate her brain.

A few judiciously placed jugs of lemon juice mixed with a pinch of clay and decorated with a sprig of parsley had taken care of the Nargles – Luna was feeling quite happy.

It was a pity, really, that Neville and Hermione hadn't hit it off while at Malfoy Manor – she'd been so sure they were a perfect match, seeing as their auras complemented each other so well. At least Neville was happy now; Luna had been sad to see him pining after her for so many years. He'd just sent her an owl announcing that he was going on a trip to Malaysia together with Narcissa, and would be keeping up a steady supply of images and articles for _The Quibbler_.

Hermione had also owled her with a proposal – it seemed that she was going to embark on an in-depth study of the intrinsic magic of wizarding houses and meant to test the waters by means of a short article in _The Quibbler_ before getting started with a monograph on the subject.

After yesterday's scoop Jasper Swizzle had sent up another roll of parchment; the figures were looking a lot better than last week. Rolf was going to return in a few days; he'd already promised to stay a little longer than usual.

Luna hoisted herself up to sit on the windowsill and bent backwards, eyes closed and mouth open, to catch a few drops of rain. July rain was widely known to have an especially stimulating effect on the brain cells if ingested in a prone position; as Luna had found out, it was possible further to improve the result by nibbling a ginger root on which a butterfly had perched. What a stroke of fortune, then, that Professor Snape was just opening his shop on the other side of the street. He would surely be able to help her out.

oooo

Tongue peeking out of the left corner of his mouth and eyes half-closed in concentration, Neville Longbottom spelled the picture of the Plant of The Month (a Catfish Bruttavista, the apple of his eye and latest addition to his greenhouses – most people thought it was hideous, but Neville was entranced by its bizarre charm) to insert itself right into the centre of the text he'd just written. Another millimetre and maybe one more fraction...

"All right, just a bit more to – bugger! Buggering buggeration and..." The door had been opened, and the resulting draught swept parchment and photo off the table. He whirled round to give the intruder a piece of his mind. "Oh, it's you, Narcissa. Come over and give us a kiss."

The kiss was a rather elaborate affair, and Narcissa's cheeks where flushed when she delicately perched on the edge of Neville's desk. "Since we're going to leave tomorrow, would you mind if we dropped in at the Manor tonight for dinner? I already Flooed Lucius, and he's happy to have us. At least I think he is – as far as I was able to gather from a somewhat erratic tirade studded with swearwords... He will really have to mind his language around Scorpius. Having his feet turned into hooves is no excuse in my opinion."

"Do you think he'll manage to turn them back till dinnertime?" Neville asked once he'd finished laughing. "I'd be willing to pay a lot of money to see him like that, not to mention that parquet floors are fiendishly difficult to walk on with hooves."

"I'm afraid he will, more's the pity. It seems that Scorpius merely misaimed – Lucius' fault, if you ask me; he ought simply to have stood at a distance from the chair the boy was supposed to be Transfiguring, instead of staying seated, lazy slob that he is."

"Oh, Hermione will take him to task, you'll see. She'll have him as busy as a worker bee in no time. Let's have dinner chez Malfoy, then. It's much cosier there than I would've thought possible."

"One big, happy family. You're such a romantic, Neville."

"But you like it, don't you?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I do."

oooo

Epilogue – Three years later

_Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple, and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road towards the great, sooty station, the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air._

The barrier separating the wizarding and Muggle parts of the station was crossed without incident, and _the family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick, white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express_.

_The vapour was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody's faces_. Hugo was holding on to his father's hand, doing his best to pull him forward. "Careful, mate," Ron admonished him. "You don't want to tear off my arm."

"But, Dad! It's late, and I want to see Scorpius before – why can't I go to Hogwarts? Why? It's so unfair! Rose is going, and she doesn't even like him that much."

His sister, red curls tamed into a stiff plait, sniffed disdainfully. "How would you know? I like him just fine."

"But you promise to _beat him in every test_, won't you, darling?" Pansy said.

"I can't beat him, mum. He's terribly talented-"

"Well, so are you," Ron pointed out.

"But he's been trained by his grandfather, Mr Snape and Aunt Hermione since he started living with them! Aunt Hermione said he could sail through most of the O.W.L. exams already!"

"So you'll just have to-"

Ron's fatherly advice was cut short by Hugo letting go of his hand and launching himself forward shouting, "Scorpius! Oy, Scorpius!"

"He's got better eyesight than an eagle," Pansy commented. "I can't see any – oh, that's Hermione!"

Trying to steer her trolley one-handed, Hermione smiled at them while attempting to tuck a few frizzy curls back into the hairpins they'd escaped. "Good morning! I must be looking a fright – all this steam is wreaking havoc with my hair. Hi, Pansy dear! No, Ron, if you ruffle my hair I swear I'll hex you. P_arked all right then_?"

"You wound me by even asking such a question." Ron put a hand over his heart with a dramatic flourish. "Of course I parked all right – passed my driving test, remember? Never mind that you _thought I'd have to Confound the examiner_. Where are your two men, by the way?"

Hermione sighed. "Severus is busy at the shop – unexpected order from St. Mungo's, and they need the stuff till noon. Lucius wanted to come with us, but the baby is teething, poor little darling, and so he decided to stay home with her. Draco sent an owl promising to show up, though – have you seen him? And where's Harry with his merry band of brothers? Scorpius, put that cage on the trolley, please! Bella looks as if she's going to throw up any moment."

Scorpius obediently set Bella's wicker basket on top of his school trunk. "I think she'd rather stay home with you and Penny."

"I guess she would," Hermione said darkly. "But one instance of finding my five-month-old daughter sucking on a dead mouse was quite enough, thank you."

"Oh, that's disgusting!" Rose squeaked.

"Actually it was quite fun," Scorpius said, falling into step next to her. "Penny was looking like a miniature vampire, and Aunt Hermione's face was very green." He stopped, suddenly serious, and Ron narrowly avoided running him over with his trolley. "_Look who it is_," he said quietly.

Draco was leaning against the red brick wall, motionless and wearing _a dark coat buttoned up to his throat_.

"That's Dad," Scorpius muttered. "Aunt Hermione, what should I do?"

"You do exactly what you feel like doing, darling. Would you like to say hello? I can go with you if you want me to."

He thought for a moment. "No," he said. "If he wants to talk to me, let him come to me. I haven't seen him in three years – it's the least he could do."

"Good for you, mate," Ron said under his breath.

_Draco caught sight of_ the six people _staring at him_, _nodded curtly and turned away_. Hermione's right hand twitched towards her wand, but Ron put a hand on her shoulder. "It's bad enough for him as it is," he muttered, "don't make it worse."

"I hate it when you out-mature me," she said with a lopsided grin. "All right, Scorps, let's go in search of the others and get your luggage onto the train. You don't want to miss it – Lucius has already told you that he's not going to take you to Hogwarts in the new Jaguar, so you'd better take the train unless you intend to walk."

"Your granddad has got a jaguar?" Rose asked, "Doesn't it bite?"

"It's a car," Scorpius explained. "And it flies, it's really quite brilliant."

"And legally registered, Mister Head Auror," Hermione said, "So don't get your hopes up."

"Well, can't have it all I suppose. Oh, there's Harry with Ginny and the children."

The three adults watched the hullaballoo unfolding, while leisurely approaching Harry and Ginny to exchange greetings.

"Ten Galleons say that Minerva will hand in her resignation no later than Saturday morning," Harry said, grinning and shaking Ron's hand. "What with Rose, Albus and Scorpius joining this year..."

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "Rose is a very well-behaved girl, Harry."

"Yeah, just like our Hermione was, and now look how she's turned out – married to two men at once, mother to a Malfoy..."

"And to a Snape, come spring," Hermione added, patting her still-flat belly.

"Well, fuck me side-"

"Language, Harry!" Ginny snapped.

"Sorry, but... If they continue like that, we're going to have to face an army of Dark Lords in twenty years' time!"

"So you better watch that scar," Hermione said dryly, "In case it starts hurting again."

_The scar had not pained Harry for_ thirteen _years_, though, and he doubted it would ever again. _All was well_.

oooo THE oooo END oooo


End file.
